Voice of Flowers/The Constant Friends
THE CONSTANT FRIENDS.
O sweet soul'd flowers, with robes so bright
Fair guests of Eden birth,
In changeful characters of light,
What lines of love divine ye write
Upon this troubled earth!
Man sinn'd in Paradise, and fell—
But when the storm arose—
When thorns and brambles sow'd his path,
And gentlest natures turn'd to wrath,
Ye leagued not with his foes.
Ye sinn'd not, though to him ye clung,
When, at the guarded door,
The penal sword its terrors flung,
And warn'd him, with its flaming tongue,
To enter there no more
Forth by his side ye meekly far'd,
With pure, reproachless eye,
And when the vengeful lion roar'd,
A balmy gush of fragrance pour'd,
In hallow'd sympathy.
Ye sprang amid the broken sod,
His weary brow to kiss;
Bloom'd at his feet where'er he trod,
And told his burden'd heart of God,
And of a world of bliss.
Ye bow'd the head, to teach him how
He must himself decay;
Yet, dying, charged each tiny seed
The earliest call of Spring to heed,
And cheer his future way.
From age to age, with dewy sigh,
Even from the desert glade.
Sweet words ye whisper, till ye die
Still pointing to that cloudless sky,
Where beauty cannot fade.