Voice of Flowers/Evening Flowers
EVENING FLOWERS.
When shuts the rose at even tide,
The lily folds its bell,
And every bud on vale or wild,
Dream in their hermit cell.
Then, neath still twilight, dim and grey,
Or where the taper stands,
Or meekly by the fireside ray,
The flower of heart expands.
The influence of this favoring hour
The watchful lover knows,
And marks its soft mimosa leaves
Their modest charms disclose.
The husband by its fragrance cheer'd,
Unlocks the cares of day,
Which, neath the warm, confiding smile,
Like shadows, fleet away.
The fond exulting parent culls
Its blossoms, rich and red,
And twines a garland bright with hope
For each young slumberer's head.
While they who best its root protect,
With thrilling breast shall prove,
How the sweet charities of home
Fit for a heaven of love.
But when this heart-flower droops its head,
And wearied mortals ask
The deep repose that nightly fits
For morn's returning task,
Up springs another by its side,
With calm and lowly eye,
A seraph-planted germ that holds
Communion with the sky:
The flower of soul! Its breath is prayer,
And fresh its balm-drops flow,
To cleanse the ills that stain'd the day,
And heal the wounds of woe.
While gently o'er its closing sigh,
With blessed vision bends
That angel-guarded sleep, which God
To his beloved sends.