fo a Dahlia... 
(By O. W. Slocum, Ionia, }Mich. 
In old-fashioned gardens; 
Where the lark’s song is born, 
Gold-splashed by the sunshine, 
And dew: kissed in the morn; 
Blooms proudly the flower, 
Of coloring so rare; 
*Tis the glorious Dahlia, 
With which none can compare. 
Where the rose shades of dawn, 
And the violet of night, 
Blend to each golden heart, 
Like a chalice for light, 
Each flower-face tinted, 
By the Master on High; 
With prismatic colors, 
From a rainbow-decked sky. 
Many times there are souls 
When the day’s toil is o’er, 
Seeking courage and rest, 
To faceiduty once more; 
Find that cares fade away, 
Where Dahlias are growing, 
In old-fashioned gardens, 
With lovely blooms showing. 
’ 
