








Wessons from the Gorse. 
Mrs. Browning. 
“To win the secret of a weed’s plain heart,” 
« 
LOWELL, 
Mee Gorses, ever golden ! 
Il 
Cankered not the whole year long! 
Do you teach us to be strong, 
Howsoever pricked and holden 
Like your thorny blooms, and so 
Trodden on by rain and snow 
Up the hill-side of this life, as bleak as where ye grow? 
Mountain blossoms, shining blossoms! 
Do ye teach us to be glad 
When no Summer can be had 
Blooming in our inward bosoms? 
Ye, whom God preserveth still, 
Set as lights upon a hill, 
Tokens to the wintry earth, that Beauty liveth still? 

