2
With glance of tearful joy, she view'd
Its promis'd verdure rise;
And oft its drooping buds she rais'd,
To point them to the skies.
But as she cherish'd it, a hand
Remov'd her hence away;
And sick'ning on her lowly tomb
The broken flow'ret lay.
It rose—to seek the ray serene,
The star of mercy threw;
It rose on life's eventful scene,
To feel and tremble too.
Yet some have fenc'd it from the blast,
And from the wintry air,
And deign'd—tho' undeserv'd their smile,
To shelter it with care.
Yes—they have cheer'd it:—they have sought
To see its branches grow;
And have not scorn'd it,—though its stalk
Was unadorn'd and low.
And if the fragrance of the skies
Should to its buds be given,
That fragrance shall to these arise,
To virtue, and to heaven.
