
Ss 

The Poetry of Flowers. 
And one coy Primrose to that rock 
The vernal breeze invites. 
What hideous warfare hath been waged, 
What kingdoms overthrown, 
Since first I spied that Primrose tuft, 
And marked it for my own ! 
A lasting link in Nature’s chain 
From highest heaven let down. 
The flowers, still faithful to the stems, 
Their fellowship renew ; 
The stems are faithful to the root, 
That worketh out of view ; 
And to the rock the root adheres, 
In every fibre true. 
Close clings to earth the living rock, 
Though threatening still to fall ; 
The earth is constant to her sphere, 
And God upholds them all: 
So blooms this lonely plant, nor dreads 
Her annual funeral, 
Here closed the meditative strain ; 
But air breathed soft that day, 
The hoary mountain heights were cheered, 
The sunny vale looked gay ; 
And to the Primrose of the rock 
I gave this after lay. 
I sang—Let myriads of bright flowers, 
Like thee, in field and grove, 
Revive unenvied ;—mightier far, 
Than tremblings that reprove 
Our vernal tendencies to hope, 
Is God’s redeeming love ; 

