THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 167

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Flowers.
BY MARGARET JUNKIN,
How beautiful the flowers are ! If they are even perfect here,
How bright they make our way, Where storms and tempests rise,
Strewing the earth so variedly What would they be if blossoming
With all their rich array ! Beneath celestial skies
They speak to us with eloquence
Of his majestic power, There they would never droop their leaves,
Who even stoops to show his skill Or cease their scented breath ;
In fashioning a flower. Their tender veins would not be ‘chill’d
Beneath the frosts of death:
we , An immortality of bloom
I fain would think that they shall be, Would thus to them be given;

With their sweet looks of love, The faintest rose tint could not fade—

Among the many pleasant things
There is no death in heaven.
That we shall meet above. Laxmmeros, Vi.

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