THE MUSK MALLOW. Emblem of Meekness. No flower is this of fiery hue, Yet who can despise the sweet tints of this flower, Though it deck not the lawn, nor adorn ladye's bower? There's nought beneath the vault of heaven, E'en to this plant a moral's given, Though simple it may seem. Emblem of meekness! who doth not hallow LE BOUQUET DES SOUVENIRS. 66 And if at times a transient breeze Returns the sweets by Nature given, LORD BYRON, ADAPTED. We ought not to overlook the minutest objects, but to examine them with a glass; for we shall then perceive how much art the Creator has bestowed upon them. GESNER. WE are too apt to treat the Almighty worse than a rational man would treat a good mechanic, whose works he would either thoroughly examine, or be ashamed to find any fault with them. This is the effect of a partial consideration of Nature; but he who has candour of mind, and leisure to look further, will be inclined to cry out, How wondrous is the scene! Where all is form'd . . . For some good end. STILLINGFLEET. WALL SCREW-MOSS. WHAT is that little creeping weed, 'Tis Nature's livery round the globe, To deck the cottage in decay, It decks the cloister's twilight pale, That muffles beauty's smile. J. HOLLAND. Moss that gathers on the stone, Crown'd with its little knobs of flowers, is seen. CLARE. THE upright philosopher of the land of Uz, and that devoted admirer of the works of Nature, David, King of Israel, both took occasion to compare the uncertain tenure of human life, to the frail and perishable state of a flower. The prophet Isaiah represents the transient glory of the crown of pride, as being like one of these faded beauties; and our Saviour has demonstrated that an important lesson against too anxious care, and pride in dress, may be learned from a right consideration of these gay visitants. BOOK OF NATURE. Lo, the lilies of the field, How their leaves instructions yield! By the blessed birds of heaven; Every bush and tufted tree, Warbles sweet philosophy; Mortal, flee from doubt and sorrow God provideth for the morrow. BISHOP HEBER. MILKWORT. OH! full of childhood's memories, Year after year, with eager eyes, I love thee, for thou hast the power And thou couldst thrill my heart with unknown pleasure: Another flower, a new one-oh, what treasure! I know not when, I know not where The prize I found, But well I can recall the air That breathed around. The breezy down, the fragrant thyme, On the still ear thro' din and tumult stealing, vealing. M.S. A. |