How withered, perished, seems the form
Of yon obscure, unsightly root!
Yet from the blight of wintry storm
It hides secure the precious fruit.
The careless eye can find no grace,
No beauty in the scaly folds,
Nor see within the dark embrace
What latent loveliness it holds.
Yet in that bulb, those sapless scales,
The lily wraps her silver vest,
Till vernal suns, and vernal gales
Shall kiss once more her fragrant breast.
Yes, hide beneath the mouldering heap,
The undelighted, slighted thing,-
There, in the cold earth buried deep,
In silence let it wait the spring.
Oh, many a stormy night shall close
In gloom upon the barren earth,
While still, in undisturbed repose,
Uninjured lies the future birth.
And ignorance, with sceptic eye,
Hope's patient smile shall wondering view; Or mock her fond credulity,
As her soft tears the spot bedew.
Sweet smile of hope, delicious tear!
The sun and shower shall come,
The promised verdant shoot appear,
And nature bid her blossoms bloom.
And thou, O virgin queen of spring,
Shalt, from the dark and lowly bed,
Bursting thy green sheath's silken string,
Unveil thy charms, and perfume shed,—
Unfold thy robes of purest white,
Unsullied from their darksome grave,
And thy soft petal's silvery light
In the mild breeze unfettered wave.
So faith shall seek the lowly dust
Where humble sorrow loves to lie,
And bid her thus her hopes intrust,
And watch with patient, cheerful eye:
And bear the long, cold, wintry night,
And bear her own degraded doom,
And wait till heaven's reviving light,
Eternal spring! shall burst the gloom.
THE WITHERED ROSE.
FAIREST flower, the pride of spring,
Blooming, beauteous, fading thing;
'Tis as yesterday, when first
Forth thy blushing beauties burst,
And I marked thy bosom swell,
And I caught thy balmy smell,
Fondly hoping soon to see
All thy full-blown symmetry.
But I came, and lo! around,
Sadly strewn upon the ground,
Lovely leaves I, fading, see,—
Oh, can these be all of thee?
I would weep, for so I've known
Many a beauteous vision flown,—
Many a hope that found its tomb
Just when bursting into bloom,
Many a friend-ah, why proceed?
See afresh my bosom bleed-
Rather turn my thoughts on high,
Hopes are there which cannot die.-
Yes, my Saviour, thou canst give
Joys that will not thus deceive,-
Eden's roses never fade,
Eden's prospects know no shade.
LITTLE flower, with starry brow,
Slumbering on thy bed of snow,
Or, with lightly tinged ray,
Winter gone and storms away,
Peeping from thy couch of green
With modest head and simple mien;
How I love to see thee lie,
In thy low serenity,
Basking in the gladsome beam;
Or, beside some murmuring stream,
Gently bowing from thy nest,
Greet the water's silver breast.
Or, 'mid fissure of the rock,
Hidden from the tempest's shock,
Vie with snowy lily's bell—
Queen and fairy of the dell.
Thee nor wind nor storm can tear
From thy lonely mountain lair;
Nor the sleety, sweeping rain
Root thee from thy native plain.
Winter's cold, nor summer's heat,
Blights thee in thy snug retreat;
Chilled by snow, or scorched by flame,
Thou for ever art the same.
Type of truth, and emblem fair
Of virtue struggling through despair,
Close may sorrows hem it round,
Troubles bend it to the ground.
Yet the soul within is calm,
Dreads no anguish, fears no harm,
Conscious that the hand which tries
All its latent energies,
Can, with more than equal power,
Bear it through temptation's hour,
Still the conflict, soothe its sighs,
And plant it 'neath congenial skies.
How sweet is the song of the lark as she springs,
To welcome the morning with joy on her wings! The higher she rises the sweeter she sings;
And she sings while we hear her no more: When storms and dark clouds veil the sun from our sight,
She has mounted above them, she sings in the
There, far from the scenes that disturb and
She loves her sweet music to pour.
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