_Wild-Flowers._
We swept away the old sear leaves
From off the wintry ground,
And underneath the frozen snow
The tiny buds we found,
Just waiting for the beckoning nod
Of sun and mellow air,
To spring in beauty from the sod,
And shed their fragrance there.
So under many a frozen heart,
Where Hope lies chilled and dead,
Beneath the tempest cares of life,
Love’s precious buds lie hid;
The smile of tender sympathy,
The word of kindly cheer,
Like the warm, sunny air of spring,
Will make the flowers appear.