POETRy.
ALL SOULS' FLOWER.
A etowea hath blossomed in this land, 1 wis, was planted by no hand, A flower so fair, so clear of hue, Ever its leaves are fresh and new, Come Lords and Ladies, see this thing!
It groweth for our soul's bettering.
O Lovely Flower !
Blossom and Thorn of Mary's Bower.
This flower it is so pretty a thing, t hath remede for sorrowing; So sweet a sap runneth in its veins, As may remove all fret or stains; If any man lack heart or mood, Straightway it maketh his losses geed.
O Flower of Price!
Sing we, sing we of Paradise.
It hath so gentle a nature, I wot it groweth in a pasture, Beside some willow-hidden brook Wherein, all day, the skies look.
It groweth for all the world to see, It groweth by a bitter Tree, O Flower of Grace!
That is, for all our sins, solace. PAMELA GLENCONNER.
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