Yes,- I can fancy, in the spring
Of childhood's sunny hours,
That Nature's infant Priest and King
Loved to gaze on flowers;

For lightly, 'mid the wreck of all,
When torn from Eden's bowers,
Above the billows of the fall
Floated gentle flowers:

Unfallen, sinless, undefiled,
Fresh bathed in summer showers,
What wonder that the holy Child
Loved to play with flowers?

In these He saw His Father's face,
All Godhead's varied powers,
And joy's each attribute to trace
In sweet unconscious flowers:

In these He found where Wisdom hides
And modest Beauty cowers,
And where Omnipotence resides,
And Tenderness,- in flowers!

Innocent Child, a little while,
Ere yet the tempest lowers,
Bask Thy young heart in Nature's smile,
Her lovely smile of flowers;

Thy young heart,- is it not array'd
In feelings such as ours?-
Yes, being now of thorns afraid,
I see Thee crown'd with flowers.