ELMINA; Or the Flower that never Fades.
Fresh from their native beds I bring
These images of youth and spring;
Sweet flowers, whose bloom too quickly past,
What pity ye no longer last.
In early dawn the Vi’let spreads,
Its transient beauties thro’ the meads;
At close of day the maid no more
Can trace, alas! her fav’rite flow’r.
At noon the rose of damask hue,
She plucks, the gaudiest as it grew;
An instant sees its leaves expand,
The next they wither in her hand.
Yet one there is of lasting kind—
Happy the nymph this flower can find!
In never-ending sweets array’d,
Whose blooming beauties never fade.
’Tis neither violet nor rose,
Nor in the field nor garden grows;
Fast rooted in the soul ’tis seen,
And there maintains perpetual spring.
Would’st thou, ’till latest time shall end,
Secure the lover and the friend;
Elmina, cultivate with care,
The flow’r that blows immortal there.
Perfect in soul thou’lt quit this sod,
And soar aloft to meet thy God:
Join hands with seraphs at the shrine,
And taste of Love that’s all Divine.