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7
TO THE CUSHAG'S FRIEND
O the cushag flower in a fairy bower
Would shine like a star of gold;
But when it grows in the farmer's close
'Tis a shocking weed, we're told.
Yet common things
May have their wings
To help our souls above;
And wayside weeds,
Like kindly deeds,
Spring from a father's love.
The cushag flower had fairy power
In olden times, you know,
To bear you away on a summer's day
Wherever you wished to go.
Its golden wings
Were slender things
To carry souls aloft;
But fairy tales,
Like fresh'ning gales,
May have their uses oft.
