EMMA.
A floweret on the grassy mound
Of buried hopes sprang up;—
Tears fell upon its bursting leaves
And gemmed its opening cup.
But such a rosy sun-light fell
Upon those tear-drops there,
That no bright crystals of the morn
Such diamond-hues might wear.
No glancing wing of summer-bird
Was ever half so gay
As that fair flower—no insect's hues
Shone with such changeful play.
It nodded gaily to the touch
Of every wandering bee,
Its petals tossed in every breeze,
And scattered odors free.
And they who watched the pleasant plant
In its bright bursting bloom,
Hailed in its growth their bower of rest,—
Solace for years to come.
But He who better knew their need
Laid its fair blossoms low;—
Between their souls and heaven's clear light
Tendril nor leaf might grow.
Then oh! how sad the grassy mounds
Its graceful growth had veiled!—
How sere and faded was their life,
Its fragrance all exhaled;—
Till from the blue o'erarching sky,
A clearer beam was given,
A light that showed them labor here,
And promised joy in heaven.