The Daisy blossoms on the rocks, Amid the purple heath; It blossoms on the river's banks, That thrids the glens beneath: The eagle, at his pride of place, Beholds it by his nest; And, in the mead, it cushions soft The lark's descending breast.
Before the cuckoo, earliest spring Its silver circlet knows, When greening buds begin to swell, And zephyr melts the snows; And, when December's breezes howl Along the moorlands bare, And only blooms the Christmas rose, The Daisy still is there!
Samaritan of flowers! to it All races are alike, The Switzer on his glacier height,-- The Dutchman by his dyke,-- The seal-skin vested Esquimaux, Begirt with icy seas,-- And, underneath his burning noon, The parasol'd Chinese.
The emigrant on distant shore, Mid scenes and faces strange, Beholds it flowering in the sward, Where'er his footsteps range; And when his yearning, home-sick heart Would bow to its despair, It reads his eye a lesson sage-- That God is everywhere!
Stars are the Daisies that begem The blue fields of the sky, Beheld by all, and everywhere, Bright prototypes on high:-- Bloom on, then, unpretending flowers! And to the waverer be An emblem of St Paul's content, St Stephen's constancy.
Rose of the desert! thou art to me An emblem of stainless purity,-- Of those who, keeping their garments white, Walk on through life with steps aright.
Thy fragrance breathes of the fields above, Whose soil and air are faith and love; And where, by the murmur of silver springs, The Cherubim fold their snow-white wings;--
Where those who were severed re-meet in joy, Which death can never more destroy; Where scenes without, and where souls within, Are blanched from taint and touch of sin;--
Where speech is music, and breath is balm; And broods an everlasting calm; And flowers wither not, as in worlds like this; And hope is swallowed in perfect bliss;--
Where all is peaceful, for all is pure; And all is lovely; and all endure; And day is endless, and ever bright; And no more sea is, and no more night;--
Where round the throne, in hues like thine, The raiments of the ransom'd shine; And o'er each brow a halo glows Of glory, like the pure White Rose!
The Sweet Briar flowering, With boughs embowering, Beside the willow-tufted stream, In its soft, red bloom, And its wild perfume, Brings back the past like a sunny dream!