Poems (Dodd)/The Portrait and the Flowers
THE PORTRAIT AND THE FLOWERS.
I bring thee flowers, bright-blooming, autumn flowers:The cold November rain, and blighting frost,Swept o'er them, but they withered not,And I have culled them from a sheltered bank,Which all day long the warm sun shines upon.Soldiers-in-green, the gold immortal flower,Rich velvet violets, and the rose-hued aster,All are here; an offering meet for thee:Like them in purity of mind and life,The storms of calumny have harmed thee not,And thy true piety exhales aroundAs doth their sweet perfume. Few years are thineYet on that open brow, ages of thoughtHave left their shadowy trace, tellingOf mental toil, and the frame's weariness,Spared not, or heeded, in thy Master's cause.Would that those silent lips; so eloquentIn truth's defence; might from a picture speak;For the glad tidings which they ever bring,Some unbelieving hearts still wait to hear. Heaven bless thy mission; soldier of the cross;To win the sinful from their thorny way,To heal the broken-hearted, and impartPeace to the dying one; and may thine ownStraight path of duty be with life's flowers strewn. A ray of golden sunlight sudden gleamsOn cheek and brow, and those soft, serious eyes,Seem sweetly smiling now with thankfulnessFor these last blossoms of the fading year.