He is happiest who hath power to gather wisdom from a flower.

I know he's coming by this sign, That baby's almost wild; See how he laughs and crows and starts — Heaven, bless the merry child! He's father's self in face and limb, And father's heart is strong in him. Shout, baby, shout! and clap thy hands, For father on the threshold stands.

Old England is our home, and Englishmen are we; Our tongue is known in every clime, our flag in every sea.

God sends children for another purpose than merely to keep up the race -- to enlarge our hearts, to make us unselfish, and full of kindly sympathies and affections.

Yes, in the poor man's garden grow Far more than herbs and flowers - Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind, And Joy for weary hours.

Heart's ease! one could look for half a day Upon this flower, and shape in fancy out Full twenty different tales of love and sorrow, That gave this gentle name.

He is happiest who hath power to gather wisdom from a flower.