Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Flowers

Flowers.

Oh! they looked upward in every place Through this beautiful world of ours,And dear as the smile on an old friend's face Is the smile of the bright, bright flowers!They tell us of wanderings by woods and streams; They tell us of lanes and trees;But the children of showers and sunny beams Have lovelier tales than these—       The bright, bright flowers!

They tell of a season when men were not, When earth was by angels trod,And leaves and flowers in every spot Burst forth at the call of God;When spirits singing their hymns at even, Wandered by wood and glade,And the Lord looked down from the highest heaven, And blessed what he had made—       The bright, bright flowers!

That blessing remaineth upon them still, Though often the storm-cloud lowers,And frequent tempests may soil and chill The gayest of earth's fair flowers.When Sin and Death, with their sister Grief, Made a home in the hearts of men,The blessing of God on each tender leaf— Preserved in their beauty then—       The bright, bright flowers!

The lily is lovely as when it slept On the waters of Eden's lake;The woodbine breathes sweetly as when it crept In Eden, from brake to brake.They were left as a proof of the loveliness Of Adam and Evo's first home:They are here as a type of the joys that bless The just in the world to come—       The bright, bright flowers!