THE DEACON S TRIAL. 221
Meanwhile, just where the Northern sun
Saluted first the Southern stone, And Tuscan straw had lain a while,
There sprang to light a flower unknown
So wondrous fair, so vaguely sweet, One could not choose to pass it by,
That gay fair foreigner that came
Where all was strange except the sky.
And now, from peasant s humble door
To palace-gardens, everywhere, That sunny bloom broadcast is seen
That came unwittingly "with care:"
And so, I think, when great events March grandly on, we creatures small
May comfort take, remembering " With care " is written over all.
��THE DEACON S TRIAL.
I NEVER will forgive him no ; I m mighty sure of that !" So saying, Deacon Jacob Jones
Took off his Sunday hat, And smoothed it with his handkerchief,
As he was wont to do, Staring upon its faded shine As he would stare it through.