Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/56

Bring then the folding leaf, with dark brown stains,
There—by the mossy roots of yon old beech,
Midst the rich tuft of cowslips—see'st thou not?
There is a spray of woodbine from the tree
Just bending o'er it, with a wild bee's weight.

Child. The Arum leaf?

Father. Yes, these deep inwrought marks,
The villager will tell thee (and with voice
Lower'd in his true heart's reverent earnestness)
Are the flower's portion from th' atoning blood
On Calvary shed. Beneath the cross it grew;
And, in the vase-like hollow of its leaf,
Catching from that dread shower of agony
A few mysterious drops, transmitted thus
Unto the groves and hills, their sealing stains,
A heritage, for storm or vernal wind
Never to waft away!
And hast thou seen
The passion-flower?—It grows not in the woods,
But 'midst the bright things brought from other climes.