[Count de Charney, when in prison, was led into a philosophical train
of reflections by the sight of a flower which grew up between the
flagstones of the prison court.]
Of all the flowers that deck the verdant knoll,
And lift their snowy petals to the air,
One spray has risen in my dungeon bare
That breaks the sceptic chain that bound my soul,
And makes me feel the might of God’s control.
O flower of sweetness! thy frail form so fair
Swept from my brow the cankering lines of care,
And safe will lead me to the eternal goal.
What hand but One could guard thy tender leaves
From the fierce fury of the summer sun,
When noonday hovers o’er my prison dun?
’Tis He that for my hapless fortune grieves!
Blest flower! that drew me to the arms of God,
With grateful tears I bathe thy dewy sod.