

160 POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
When they return to us 
Fn the dim night, 
Are they not angel-like, 
Holy and bright— 
Sanctified—purified 
Unto us now, 
With a heaven-garland, 
Encircling each brow ? 
Turn to the living ones 
There as they stand, 
Touch the live hearts of them 
With thy love-wand— 
Seek not the weeds in them, 
And to thy sight 
They will be angel-like, 
Holy, and bright, 
Look for the Flowers ! 
Look for the flowery way, 
Life has its clouds 3 
Treasured ones, suddenly 
Wrapp’d in their shrouds,<= 
Hopes often dash’d aside— 
Hearts rudely torn, 
And o’er wreck’. promises 
Oft do we mourn ;~- 
Hints, too, are given us, 
That our swift day, 
Rapidly—rapidly, 
Flecteth away. 
