THE WALLFLOWER.

Otago Witness, Issue 2078, 21 December 1893, Page 1

THE WALLFLOWER.

Its roots are on a wall — a high sfeoue wall, Within a cleft, firm in their parent clod, Formed from the particles of dust let fall By every breeze that homeward passed to God. Some soaring bird Nature the seed had given, And it was dropped between the earth and heaven ! A time of waiting, mist and wind and rain, Sunshine and dew, and lo ! the tiny shoob Told its own hope, developed to its gain, Reached for its promised, testified its root ; Then clustering buds, more rain, more dew, more shine, Now, rich and hardy, blooms a flower divine. The crumbling stone is decked in brown and gold, The air is scented with aroma sweet, The bees suck honey, and the children turn And reach tip-toe upon impatient feeb, Wanting the flower, and risking oft the fall To clasp and keep the glory of the wall. It grows and glows above the dusty street, And throws its perfume when the raindrops fall. It lifts its head the rising sun to greet, And sheds its balm when darkness covers

all. What shall I call it? — Manhood strong and true? I break a sprig, and send it, dear, to you. — Louie A. Dawson.

Christmas, 1893.