"
I suppose that most of my readers will scarcely be older than I
was when I wrote my sermonish little poems under the inspiration
of the flowers at my factory work, and perhaps they will be
interested in reading a specimen or two from the "Lowell Offer-
ing:"--
LIVE LIKE THE FLOWERS.
Cheerfully wave they o'er valley and mountain,
Gladden the desert, and smile by the fountain;
Pale discontent in no young blossom lowers:--
Live like the flowers!
Meekly their buds in the heavy rain bending,
Softly their hues with the mellow light blending,
Gratefully welcoming sunlight and showers:--
Live like the flowers!
Freely their sweets on the wild breezes flinging,
While in their depths are new odors upspringing:--
(Blessedness twofold of Love's holy dowers,)
Live like the flowers!
Gladly they heed Who their brightness has given:
Blooming on earth, look they all up to heaven;
Humbly look up from their loveliest bowers: -
Live like the flowers!
Peacefully droop they when autumn is sighing;
Breathing mild fragrance around them in dying,
Sleep they in hope of Spring's freshening hours:--
Die like the flowers!
The prose-poem that follows was put into a rhymed version by
several unknown hands in periodicals of that day, so that at last
I also wrote one, in self-defense, to claim my own waif.
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