Page:Poems Rice.djvu/122

TO RALPH, ON HIS SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY, JULY 25, 1859.

THIS evening hour, the Sabbath eve,
 The sun just sinking in the west,
A fadeless wreath of thought I'd weave
 For thee, before I go to rest;
And I would gather only those
 Of purest tint and perfume sweet,
The violet, lily, and the rose,
 To make it, precious one, complete.

The violet so meek and low,
 Of modesty the fairest type;
Be thus, wherever thou mayst go,
 "If thou wouldst be for heaven ripe;
The lily, purity's own hue,
 Springing so lovely from the earth,
It breathes a prayer forever new,
 An emblem of a higher birth.

The rose, the queen of all the flowers,
 Who can describe or tell its worth?
Transplanted here from Eden's bowers
 Subduing grief, alike our mirth;