Whisper, "blessed are the dead."
TO THE "WILD FLOWER."[[5]]
I've ranged the bright streamlet in childhood's blest hour,
And culled from its borders spring's loveliest flowers,
Then bound up my bouquet, all glitt'ring with dew,
And smiled on my treasure as homeward I flew.
I've seen the sweet violet deck the green sod,
All fresh from the hand of a bountiful God,