RS, 
ed Woo 
to bare 
10 more! 
dies, 
rt, 
II dente 
ot part! 
dreams| 
8, 
stream 
dyes 
wined- 
death! 
wind 
ath, 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 47 
* We meet,”’ thou said’st, ‘‘ though sever’d by 
the tomb: 
io. brother, this is heav’n! And thus the just 
shall bloom.”’ 
BLESSED BE GOD FOR FLOWERS. 
Suggested by seeing my youngest child asleep, with 
Wild Flowers grasped inits hand. 
BY MRS. CHARLES TINSLEY. 
Burssep be God for flowers! 
For the bright, gentle, holy thoughts, that breathe 
From out their odorous beauty, like a wreath 
Of sunshine on life’s hours! 
Lightly upon thine eye 
Hath fallen the noon-tide sleep, my joyous bird : 
And through thy parted lips the breath, scarce 
heard, 
Comes like a summer sigh. 
One rosy hand is thrown 
Beneath thy rosier cheek: the other holds 
A group of sweet field-flowers, whose bloom 
unfolds 
A freshness like thine own 














