







THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Is there a heart that loves the spring, 
Their witness can refuse ? 
Yet mortals doubt, when angels bring 
From heaven their Easter news : 
When holy maids and matrons speak. 
Of Christ’s forsaken bed, 
And voices, that forbid to seek 
The living ’mid the dead ; 
And when they say, ‘‘ Turn, wandering hear 
‘¢ Thy Lord is risen indeed, 
Let pleasure go, put care apart, 
And to his presence speed ;"’ 
We smile in scorn: and yet we know 
They early sought the tomb, 
Their hearts that now so freshly glow, 
Lost in desponding gloom. 
They who have sought, nor hope to find, 
Wear not so bright a glance: 
They who have won their earthly mine, 
Less réyorently advance. 
But where, in gentle spirits, fear 
And joy so duly meet, 
"hese sure have seen the angels near, 
And kiss’d the Savour’s feet. 














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