A MOTHER nurs’d two fondlings,
And they were sister—twins; —
‘Tis from the cot and cradle
My narrative begins—
‘One babe was blithe and bonny,
And freely coo’d and smiled.
The other, pale and slender;
A frail and fragile child.
These birth-united darlings
Bore names both apt and sweet,
Selected by their parents
With sense and taste complete;
The lively, blooming maiden
Their Rose was justly nam’d;
Her fair and tender sister,
The name of Lily claim’d.
Together grew these flowers,
Were nurtur’d side by side
For five succeeding summers,
And then the Lily died;
Or, rather, was transplanted
By Jesus, in His love,
That she, His gathered lily,
Might ever bloom above.
For He, in grace, once suffered,
Himself He freely gave,
And shed His blood, so precious,
That sinners He might save;
And even little children,
As tender as this twin,
Had need of His atonement,
To make them pure from sin.
I need not tell the sorrow
Which filled the mother’s breast
On parting with her weakling,
So tended and caressed;
Nor yet, how little Rosy
Her Lily-sister missed,
With whom she long had prattled,
Had played with, loved, and kiss’d.
This flower of human culture
Still flourishes and grows,
Her title well sustaining
To her sweet name of Rose.
Oh! may the Heavenly Planter
Display his grace and power,
And set her in His garden,
A fair, unfading flower.
Himself, the Rose of Sharon,
His glory earth shall see;
The Lily of the valleys,
How meek and lowly, He!
Now set in heavenly glory,
All-fragrant and all-fair,
How blest are they who see Him
In all His beauty there!
T.