Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/152



One spirit—His Who wore the platted thorn with bleeding brows, Rules universal nature.—Not a flower But shews some touch, in freckle, freak, or stain, Of his unrivalled pencil. He inspires Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar.— Happy who walks with him! .

to the woods, my boy! Come to the streams and bowery dingles forth, My happy child! The spirit of bright hours