THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 245 


Their tendrils, vetch, or pea, or tare, i| 
A ¢ q ar : i| 
At random; and with many a pair | 
Of leaflets green the brake embower, || 
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And many a pendant-painted flower. | 
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——~>—— {| 
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FLOWERS: {| 
BY ELIZABETH OAK SMITH, 
Each leaflet is a tiny scroll 
Inscribed with holy truth, | 
A lesson that around the hear 
Should keep the dew of youth; 
Bright missals from angelic throngs I] 
In every by-way left 
How were the earth of glory shorn 
Were it of flowers bereft ! 

They tremble on the Alpine heights, || 
The fissured rock they press, 
The desert wild with heat and sand, | 
Shares too their blessedness . || 
And wheresoe’er the weary heart | 
Turns in its dim despair, 
The meek-eyed blossom upward looks, || 
Inviting it to prayer! 

