BY JAMES F. CLARKE .

Little firstlings of the year!
Have you come my room to cheer?
You are dry and parched, I think,
Stand within this glass and drink;
Stand beside me on the table
'Mong my books — if I am able
I will find a vacant space
For your bashfulness and grace:
Learned tasks and serious duty
Shall be lightened by your beauty.

Pure affection's sweetest token,
Choicest hint of love unspoken,
Friendship in your help rejoices,
Uttering her mysterious voices.
You are gifts the poor may offer, —
Wealth can find no better proffer;
For you tell of tastes refined,
Thoughtful heart and spirit kind.
Gift of gold or jewel dresses
Ostenlatious thought confesses;
Simplest mind this boon may give,
Modesty herself receive.

For lovely woman you were meant
The just and natural ornament,
Sleeping on her bosom fair,
Hiding in her raven hair;
Or peeping out 'mid golden curls,
You outshine barbaric pearls,
Yet you lead no thought astray,
Feed not pride nor vain display,
Nor disturb her sisters' rest,
Waking envy in their breast.

Let the rich, with heart elate,
Pile their board with costly plate,
Richer ornaments are ours,
We will dress our homes with flowers;
Yet no terror need we feel
Lest the thief break through to steal.

Ye are playthings for the child,
Gifts of love for maiden mild;
Comfort for the aged eye,
For the poor, cheap luxury.

Though your life is but a day,
Precious things, dear flowers, you say,
Telling that the Being good
Who supplies our daily food,
Deems it needful to supply
Daily food for heart and eye.

So, though your life is but a day,
We grieve not at your swift decay.
He, who smiles in your bright faces,
Sends us more to take your places.
'T is for this ye fade so soon,
That He may renew the boon:
That kindness often may repeat
These mute messages so sweet:
That Love to plainer speech may get,
Conning oft his alphabet:
That Beauty may be rained from heaven,
New with every morn and even,
With freshest fragrance sunrise greeting:
Therefore are ye, flowers, so fleeting.