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THE CHILD AND THE ROSE.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


156

THE CHILD AND THE ROSE.

When stirring bud and songful bird
Brought gladness to the earth,
And spring-time voices first were heard
In low, sweet sounds of mirth;
A little child, with pleasant eyes,
Reclined in tranquil thought,
And, half-communing with the skies,
His pretty fancies wrought.
He turned where cased in robe of green
A rosebud met his eye—
And one faint streak the leaves between,
Rich in its crimson dye.
The warm light gathereth in the sky—
The bland air stirreth round—
And yet the child is lingering by,
Half-kneeling on the ground:

157

For broader grew that crimson streak,
Back folds the leaf of green—
And he in wonder still and meek
Watched all its opening sheen.
“'Tis done, 'tis done!” at length he cried,
With glad amazement wild—
The rose, in new-created pride,
Had opened for the child.
Oh! had we hearts like thine, sweet boy,
To watch creative power,
We too should thrill with kindred joy
At every opening flower.