While soft whisp'ring zephyrs breathed this in my ear,
"The wisdom of God in these blossoms appear."
I've looked on the mayflower, spring's earliest child,—
It peeped from the snowdrift and modestly smiled;
I've plucked the fair lily, arrayed in fair white,
And drank in its fragrance with heartfelt delight.
Yet blossoms that smile in the green woodland bower,
Ne'er rival this sweet intellectual flower;
This blossom sprang up from the depths of the mind,—
The heart's thrilling fibres its tendrils entwine,