The months are gone I've spent in Flora's bowers;

The Sun once more his yearly course hath run; Fallen are the leaves, and withered lie the flowers I longed to see when first the year begun. Alas, that loveliness so frail must be! - An emblem true of man's mortality!

Yet I can not lament these bygone days,

Like those so oft in idleness misspent; To train a flower, these beauteous forms to raise,

May well employ the moments God has lent. I work with Him - I only till the ground; 'Tis He rewards my toil with skill profound.

Full oft have flowers meek eloquence employed To teach me lessons much my heart required;

The joys of earth with sorrows are alloyed: - To bear each grief my heart has been inspired,

As oft these gems of Nature seemed to say,

"The Power which made us is not far away".

Henry Burgess.