Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/146

146 

I left a rose within a lovely bower, Rearing on polish'd stem its bosom fair,— I went my way, and roam'd a little hour, Then turning sought it, but it was not there;— Though I had watch'd it with a florist's care When its young bloom first woo'd admiring eyes, And breath'd o'er its unfolding germ, the prayer,— And mark'd with grateful hope its beauties rise, Yielding their smile to earth, their fragrance to the skies.

I ask'd the winds if in their ruffian pride They on the dust had strew'd those petals rare? I call'd the blasts and mildews to my side And question'd each. They said they might not dare The spoiler's deed upon a work so fair.— But the mild breeze from a far dome convey'd    A strain of joy.—It said my Rose was there Bound in a vase of love,—and so I bade Within its trembling orb, the selfish tear be stay'd.

 

Oh Lord our Lord,—how great thy name! Whose praise both heaven and earth proclaim! Even babes with unaccustom'd tongue And infant lips in knowledge young, Pour forth the sweet, accordant song, And put to shame the impious throng.— 