THE FLOWER’S PRAYER FOR IMMORTALITY.

The fragrance of th’ dying flower Ascends ’e’en unto God; Returning to its Maker From birthplace ’neath the sod. Its soul goes forth in anthems; In songs of praise to Him Who gave to it existence,— And, dying, sings a hymn Of thanks, and of rejoicing To God for its short life, Which e’er hath been a symphony, With naught of care, nor strife. Its God hath given it sunshine, Its God hath given it food. Bequeathed to it the dewdrops, He hath pronounced it good. It longs to soar to heaven, So breathes its fragrance rare To God, as invocation. To Him sends forth this prayer: O God accept my perfume, ’Tis all I have to give.— O I would be immortal: I would forever live, The flower Thou hast created, Wouldst live forever, aye.— What use would be its fragrance? If lost ’mid shadows gray.— I claim of Thee my birthright, My fragrance is my soul. Though earth hath been my birthplace, High heaven is my goal. Take back what Thou hast given, ’Tis fit for heavenly bower; Accept it O my Maker, This incense of a flower. E’en in my earthly prison, When I was but a seed, Thou spakest words so loving. That upward they didst lead My soul from out its darkness Into thy glorious light. It burst the bars of prison, Became a flower bright. To Thee I gave my fragrance— I breathed to Thee a prayer, A prayer of adoration That sensed is everywhere. All life, however lowly, Is one, and part with Thee— By Thee it was created, And claims eternity.