When evening closes Nature's eye, The glow-worm lights her little spark To captivate her favorite fly And tempt the rover through the dark.

Songs of praise the angels sang, Heav'n with alleluias rang, when creation was begun, when God spoke and it was done.

A mother's love — how sweet the name! What is a mother's love? — A noble, pure and tender flame, Enkindled from above, To bless a heart of earthly mould; The warmest love that can grow cold; This is a mother's love.

Who that hath ever been Could bear to be no more? Yet who would tread again the scene He trod through life before?

There is a flower, a little flower With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky.

Joys too exquisite to last, And yet more exquisite when past.

Blue thou art, intensely blue; Flower, whence came thy dazzling hue?