Is Not Thy Home Among

Where Are The Flowers, The Fair Young Flowers, That Lately Sprang And Stood In Brighter Light And Softer Airs, A Beauteous Sisterhood?

Showers And Sunshine Bring, Slowly, The Deepening Verdure O'er The Earth; To Put Their Foliage Out, The Woods Are Slack, And One By One The Singing-birds Come Back.

The Windflower And The Violet, They Perished Long Ago, And The Brier-rose And The Orchis Died Amid The Summer Glow; But On The Hills The Golden-rod, And The Aster In The Wood, And The Yellow Sunflower By The Brook, In Autumn Beauty Stood, Till Fell The First From The Clear Cold Heaven, As Falls The Plague On Men, And The Brightness Of Their Smile Was Gone, From Upland Glade And Glen.

Ah! Never Shall The Land Forget How Gushed The Life-blood Of Her Brave -

The Breath Of Springtime At This Twilight Hour Comes Through The Gathering Glooms, And Bears The Stolen Sweets Of Many A Flower Into My Silent Rooms.