Soft, silent Time that comes apace
O'er human flowers that bloom,
You quickly change youth to old age,
And lead life toward the tomb.

Bright turf-born gosling of the field,
Teach us to smile, and give
A perfume from a fragrant soul,
That on and on shall live.

THE FLOWERS I LOVE.

I sometimes think I love the rose
More than all other flowers,
Because its fragrance falls on me
In copious, dainty showers;
And blushing in its modesty,
I press it to my heart,
As the idol of my dalliance
That should no more depart.

But when I see the lily fair--
The meadow's beauteous queen--
Surrounded by her myriad friends
All dressed in Nature's green,
My heart goes out in ecstasy,
And naught on earth to me
Seems fairer type of loveliness,
Than this daughter of th' lea.

When bright snow-flake-petaled daisy,
Whose heart of yellow gold,
Is richer vein of pure delight
Than miner-kings may hold,
Sends out her invitation warm,
To search in her domain
For berries like a bleeding heart,
I cannot well decline.

And then the graceful goldenrod
With flaunting, sun-lit plume,
Whose lateness lends a special joy
And sweetness to its bloom,
Invites me with its wind-blown nod,
To be its devotee,
With honesty I must confess
It has a charm for me.

There's a heaven-born flower--the aster,
That drinks nocturnal dews
From late autumn's chilly fountains,
And steals the sunset hues;
It smiles from wayside tangles
And coyly casts its eyes,
Yet holds me by its modesty
A voluntary prize.

I know not which I love the most,--
I know I love them all,--
For God hath given each its grace,
And each its special call;
Each has a mission to perform,
A purpose and an end,
And sweet is the companionship
Of each bright flower-friend.

TRAILING ARBUTUS.

Under the brown leaves meekly abiding,
The gem of the spring-flowers nestles away,
In copse near th' wood, where covertly hiding,
It catches the glow of Aurora's first ray.

Where moss and leaf are strewn in profusion--
A bed whereon gods might gladly repose--
Apart from the world, in rural seclusion
The pride of the moorland--arbutus grows.

In moss