

THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
The flowers are culled; and each lithe stem 
With Woodbine band we braid— 
With Woodbine, type of Life’s best gem, 
Of Truth, that will not fade; 
The Wreath is wove; do Thou, blest Power, 
That brood’st o’er leaflet, fruit, and flower, 
Embalm it with thy love ; 
O make it such as angels wear, 
Pure, bright, as deck’d earth’s first-born pair, 
Whilst, free in Eden’s grove, 
from herb and plant they brushed the dew, 
Ans ueither sin nor sorrow knew 
eee 
THE USE OF FLOWERS. 
BY MARY HOWITT. 
Gop might have bade the earth bring fortis 
Enough for great and small, 
The oak-tree and the cedar-tree, 
Without a flower at all, 
He might have made enough, enough, 
For every want of ours : 
For luxury, medicine, and toil, 
And yet have made no flowers. 
The ore within the mountain-mine 
Requireth none to grow, 
th) 









