FLOWERS

Mirrors of morn

Whence the dewdrop is born,

Soft tints of the rainbow and skies —

Sisters of song,

What a shadowy throng

Around you in memory rise!

Far do ye flee,

From your green bowers free,

Fair floral apostles of love,

Sweetly to shed

Fragrance fresh round the dead,

And breath of the living above.

Flowers for the brave —

Be he monarch or slave,

Whose heart bore its grief and is still!

Flowers for the kind —

Aye, the Christians who wind

Wreaths for the triumphs o'er ill!