Transplanted Flowers

There's many a flower that proudly springsAmid the gaudy world's parterre,Caress'd by Fashion's painted wings,To Folly dear.

Whose flaunting petals woo the sun,Heedless of Beauty's transient lot,But wither ere the day is done,Unwept, forgot.

Yet some there are that bloom apart,With meekly consecrated charm.Whose gifts of fragrance cheer the heartLike healing balm.

O'er the blest spot, where erst they grew,The eye of Love its tears shall shed,And Pain and Penury bedewTheir funeral bed.

But, 'neath an everlasting beamThey smile, where no dark cloud descends;Theirs was that hallow'd incense stream,Which heavenward tends.

Unfading, lo! they live, they bloom—Transplanted by His culturing hand,Who bade them seek beyond the tombA better land.