








PORTRY OF FLOWERS. 

i Thus .t bursts forth like thy pale cup, a 
|| Glist’nimg amid its dewy tears, 
And bears the sinking spirit up 
| Amid its chilling fears ; 
| But still eee animating far, 
| i ‘ If meek religion’s eye may trace, | 
| Even in thy glimm’ring earth-born star 
| The holier hope of grace! 
The hope that, as thy beauteous bloom | 
| Expands to glad the close of day, 
Be oe the shadows of the tomb 
