thanks for a boquet.
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But not alone of smiling skies,
Or zephyr's fragrant breath they tell;
A tone they have, which more I prize
Than painted leaf, or perfumed belle;
They whisper me, these blushing flowers,
That Friendship culled the fresh boquet,
To cheer the sick one's languid hours,
And cheat the weary time away.
They whisper, kindness, sympathy,
Have yet a home, dear friend, with thee.
Or zephyr's fragrant breath they tell;
A tone they have, which more I prize
Than painted leaf, or perfumed belle;
They whisper me, these blushing flowers,
That Friendship culled the fresh boquet,
To cheer the sick one's languid hours,
And cheat the weary time away.
They whisper, kindness, sympathy,
Have yet a home, dear friend, with thee.
Ah! well I love their pleasant tones,
Perchance unheard by other ears;
But to my listening heart they speak,
My heart their silent language hears.
Then let me thank thee for thy gift,
Thy blooming gift of fragrant flowers;
They come like angel visitants,
To cheer my sick one's languid hours,
And on each leaf can fancy frame
The letters of thy gentle name.
Perchance unheard by other ears;
But to my listening heart they speak,
My heart their silent language hears.
Then let me thank thee for thy gift,
Thy blooming gift of fragrant flowers;
They come like angel visitants,
To cheer my sick one's languid hours,
And on each leaf can fancy frame
The letters of thy gentle name.
