IV. A Wood-Flower.

Lonely flower to me revealed, In the wood in moss concealed, Thou alone dost blooming linger, Blooming ever and anon;— Ere thou’rt gone, Let us mark th’ Almighty’s finger, Whom all things depend upon.

When a bee, led all astray, Finds to thee its weary way, Wide thou spread’st thy bosom’s treasure, And thou thinks’t within thyself: Such sweet pelf Must afford refreshing pleasure, To this lonesome little elf.

O rejoice that God’s own hand, Placed thee, lonely there to stand, Thus kind nourishment to tender; Lost, the bee in mazes quaint, Tired and faint, Soon its life must else surrender, Missing this sweet wood-flower saint.

Christian, who in loneliness, On thy path reliev’st distress; Change not for thy rank or station, What vain show doth oft appear; Flow’ret dear, Happy he whose destination, Is the lonely wood-flower’s here!