Excerpt
RUFUS MERRILL.
I love the flowers, the fragrant flowers!They’re fairy things to me;They seem like angels sent to bless,And teach of purity.
MY FLOWER-POT. FLOWERS. There is beauty in flowersWhen kissed by the showersThat fall in the bowersOf gardens so fair,When music is tellingIn notes that are swelling,And love is excelling,Aloft in the air. Birds now are singing,Deep valleys are ringing,And harmony bringingContent to the mind.Flowers are caressing,And sending a blessingTo all now confessingTo be to them kind. Minds soon are rovingTo lands that are bloomingAfar from the gloomingOf woe and despair,Saying, “Come to the bowersFilled with rare flowers—Nature’s kind dowers,Free as the air.” Come, my love, and do not spurnFrom a little flower to learn:See the lily on the bed,Hanging down its modest head;While it scarcely can be seen,Folded in its leaf of green. Yet we love the lily well,For its sweet and pleasant smell,And would rather call it oursThan many other gayer flowers;Pretty lilies seem to beEmblems of humility. ’Tis not beauty that we prize,—Like a summer flower it dies. But humility will last,Fair and sweet, when beauty’s past;And the Saviour, from above,Views a humble child with love. Come, my love, and do not spurnFrom a little flower to learn:Let your temper be as sweetAs the lily at your feet;Be as gentle, be as mild:Be a modest, simple child.
The Forget-me-not. There is a sweet, a lovely flower,Tinged deep with faith’s unchanging hue,Pure as the ether in its hourOf loveliest and serenest blue. The streamlet’s gentle side it seeks,The silent fount, the shaded grot;And sweetly to the heart it speaks—Forget-me-not, forget-me-not. See the flowers, how they grow;Hear the winds that gently blow.Bird and insect, flower and tree,Know they must not idle be;Each has something it must do—Little children, so must you. The buds and the blossoms,How bright to the view!Like jewels and diamonds,They sparkle with dew. The sun’s rising beamsHave greeted each flower:How lovely the scene,How peaceful the hour! All nature awakensFrom a night of soft sleep,And the insects once moreFrom their hiding-holes creep. The old birds have flownFar away to get food,While anxiously waitTheir timid young brood. To our Father in heavenOur voices we’ll raise,With feelings most fervent,In songs to his praise. Dear Saviour, to love theeOur hearts are inclined;Oh, teach us, we pray thee,Thy precepts to mind! Upon our heart-garden,Oh, let thy love rain,Like fresh summer showersUpon the young grain. Like soft, gentle dewUpon the dry earth,Which opens the old buds,And to new ones gives birth. O, teach us to offerGood deeds in thy praise,And acts of true charityBe the hymns that we raise. From all that will harm us,Or sorrow will bring,Oh, keep us, dear Lord,Beneath thy bright wing.
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