A GRAY-HAIRED man to me declared,
" I cannot stoop to flowers !"
To man and God his head he bared,
To paltry pelf he cowers.
To meditate, great Hervey sought
The gardens and the bowers ;
His mind the healthy dew-drops caught,
While stooping to the flowers.
The meanest flower of earth was made
By that great God of ours ;
He everything created bade
God stooped to make the flowers.
The brightest gems of flowering fields
Grown brilliant with the dew,
Our God his care in goodness yields,
And stoops to kiss them too.
" I cannot stoop so low as flowers,"
I heard the old man say ;
His heart warmed not at sunny hours,
Nor the garden gems of May.
Can Heaven propitious be to him
Whose disposition soars
Amid bewitching fragrance in
The garden with the flowers ?
