The Gentle Race Of Flowers Are Lying

Is Not Thy Home Among The Flowers?

The Hushed Winds Their Sabbath Keep.

On Rolls The Stream With A Perpetual Sigh; The Rocks Moan Wildly As It Passes By; Hyssop And Wormwood Border All The Strand, And Not A Flower Adorns The Dreary Land.

The Windflower And The Violet, They Perished Long Ago, And The Brier-rose And The Orchis Died Amid The Summer Glow; But On The Hills The Golden-rod, And The Aster In The Wood, And The Yellow Sunflower By The Brook, In Autumn Beauty Stood, Till Fell The First From The Clear Cold Heaven, As Falls The Plague On Men, And The Brightness Of Their Smile Was Gone, From Upland Glade And Glen.

Error's Monstrous Shapes From Earth Are Driven They Fade, They Fly--but Truth Survives The Flight.