










202 POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
The scorching sun, at the noontide hour, 
Looked down on the blossoms gay ; 
They drooped and paled ‘neath his withering 
power, 
All save the little shaded flower, 
And she quailed not beneath his ray. 
Then to glisten afar in the rainbow’s dye, 
He bade the drops depart ; 
But the flower looked up with a trusting eye— 
Though the dew no more on her breast might lie, 
It had freshened the life at her heart. 
And is it not thus in adversity’s hour, 
When the soul is with grief oppress’d, 
Our spirits droop ’neath misfortune’s power, 
And we nurse, like the little shaded flower, 
A sorrow in the breast. 
And may we not hope, when our grief is not fled, 
That a stronger faith will be given? 
And the tears which our burdened hearts have 
shed, 
Shall form, when the night of gloom is sped, 
A rainbow of hope in heaven ? 
