And soft green moss suffused it o'er and o'er.
He lingered near it for a moment brief,
Plucked off a bud, which he to heaven bore;
And now the rose smiles at the raging storm,
Defies the wind and nipping frost as well;
Its fragrance still retains, and lovely form,
While nestling budlets this old story tell.
GOD'S CARE
I fear not, my Father, the tempest's loud roar,