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Seasons of Prayer
WHY BLOOM THE FLOWERS ?
God might have made the earth bring forth
Enough for great and small, The oak-tree and the cedar-tree,
Without a flower at all.
We might have had enough, enough
For every want of ours ;
And yet have had no flowers.
All dyed with rainbow light,
Upspringing day and night,-
And on the mountains high, And in the silent wilderness,
Where no man passes by ?
Our outward life requires them not,
Then wherefore had they birth ?
To beautify the earth;
Whene'er his faith is dim;
TO MY MOTHER.
They tell us of an Indian tree,
Which, howsoe'er the sun and sky May tempt its boughs to wander free,
And shoot and blossom wide and high, Far better loves to bend its arms
Downward again, to that dear earth, From which the life, that fills and warms
Its grateful being, first had birth : 'Tis thus, though wooed by flattering friends,
And fed with fame,—if fame it be,This heart, my own dear mother, bends, With love's true instinct, back to thee.
THERE is a flower, a little flower
With silver crest and golden eye,
And weathers every sky.
In gay but quick succession shine;
They flourish and decline.
While moons and stars their courses run, Wreathes the whole circle of the year,
Companion of the sun.
To sultry August spreads its charms,
And twines December's arms.
On moory mountains catch the ķ
The violet in the vale.
Hides in the forest, hauntstower