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58 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
From the moss-edged fountain it sweetly rises,— A flower, a flower like a starry gem;
Through the dewy leaves it beams forth in brightness, Fair as a princely diadem!
0, the first spring flower! how it prompts the gushing Of feelings deep, pent up in the heart ; Thrills of delight through its fibres are rushing, As when the gale breathes through the wild-wind harp.
How many the thoughts from darkness up-springing, Which raise the heart's aspirations to God, As I gaze on this flower, its sweet perfume flinging As it meekly rests on the dewy sod.
Thus, when some new-born hope is unfolding, Like this sweet flow'ret, our pathway to cheer;
Thus do we gaze, and, its beauties beholding, Turn from the glories that linger elsewhere.
And thus doth it raise the heart's adoration, Thus doth it lift the tried spirit above,
And prompt us to bring a sacred oblation— A grateful heart to the altar of love.