Wild Flowers
by
William Heaton

I love to see the primrose bloom
Beside the sylvan stream,
And little daisies open fair,
Beneath the sunshine's gleam;
When daffodils and buttercups
Bloom in each lovely vale,
And the wild bees with honeyed lips
Their fragrant sweets inhale.

When nature from her golden lap
Scatters a thousand flowers,
To blossom on the desert waste,
Or in the woodland bowers.

Far from the daring haunts of men,
Upon the mountain crest,
Where the wild eagle rears her young,
And builds her lonely nest.

They rear their heads unseen, unknown,
Upon the moorland wild,
And hang upon the hedgerows green,
By nature undefiled.

their scented sweets are carried far
Upon the balmy air;
They bloom upon the lonely grave
Of the once fresh and fair.

Each valley bears the impress sweet
Of their enlivening charms;
They bloom upon each heath-clad hill,
'Mid nature's wild alarms.

Their loveliness is never seen
Within the city's gloom:
But in the forest's lonely wild
They love to bud and bloom.

The lily and the mountain rose
Their lovely sweets display;
And flowers of different tints and shades
Look quite as fresh as they.

The foxglove by the forest dell
Uprears its gorgeous head;
While scores of other beauteous flowers
Around our feet are spread.

These all were made by one great Hand,
For some wise purpose given;
They cheer man in life's stormy path,
And point the way to heaven.

To-day they bloom both fresh and fair,
With all their colours grand:
To-morrow's sun may find them all
A wreck upon the strand.

They image forth those short-lived joys
Designed for man below,
Where sorrow and its kindred weeds
In countless clusters grow;
While hope looks up with streaming eyes,
And points the soul above,
Where everlasting flowerlets bloom,
And everlasting love

Page Ref: H269_1

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