Though they smile in vain for what once was ours,
They are love’s last gift. Bring ye flowers, pale flowers!
Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer—
They are nature’s offering, their place is there!
They speak of hope to the fainting heart,
With a voice of promise they come and part,
They sleep in dust through the wintry hours,
They break forth in glory. Bring flowers, bright flowers!
THE CRUSADER’S RETURN.
“Alas! the mother that him bare,