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THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.
E lilies of the field, ye fairest flowersOf all which bloomed of old in Eden's bowers,
And since thence exiled have this world arrayed
With beauties time hath varied, ne'er decayed;
To ye the pensive heart still turns again,
And seeks for wisdom never sought in vain.
For though we view with ever fresh delight
The rose's blushing hue or tinted white,
Each cultured gem of Flora's wide domains;
Or, wandering far, behold, where Nature reigns,
Those wilder sweets which o'er creation wave,
And deck alike man's cradle and his grave;—
Yet still on thee, thou fair and graceful flower,
There seems to rest a deeper, holier power,—
A charm which long survives thy transient bloom,
And sheds its lustre o'er thine early tomb:
For who, fair queen, can view thy peerless form
Glance in the sunshine, bend beneath the storm,
Or turn on high those purple streaks which glow
Upon thy bosom else of purest snow,—
Nor think of Him, the incarnate Son of God,
Who, while on earth His pilgrim footsteps trod,
(Chose thee from all earth's glorious things and fair,
For man a lesson fraught with love to bear,
