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The Flower

by Eliza Wolcott

Emblem of earthly scenes which give delight,
Which fade away, no more to charm the sight;
Emblem of pleasure—phantom of a day—
Which fade to-morrow in the sun's bright ray.

But flowers in Paradise, unfading bloom;
No frosts are there, no winter of the tomb,
But gentle dews; and summer all the year,
Descends from heaven, to flourish ever there.

Sweet flowers are strew'd upon this earth awhile
To soothe our sorrows, and our griefs beguile
To give taste superior thoughts of heaven,
And thus to muse upon the promise given.

Our friends, who rang'd with us to gather flow'rs,
Are gone, or dead,—the past were pleasing hours—
Lament not—for in Paradise they bloom,
And find a wreath for us beyond the tomb.

Flowers of a day—I look on thee with joy,
Though all thy beauty time will soon destroy;
Yet hope, upon thy softness, fondly sings,
Touch'd with the beauty of immortal things.

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