| C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917. | | | | Park Benjamin |
| | | | Flowers are Love’s truest language; they betray, |
| Like the divining rods of Magi old, |
| Where precious wealth lies buried, not of gold, |
| But love—strong love, that never can decay! |
| 1 |
| | Gold! gold! in all ages the curse of mankind, |
| Thy fetters are forged for the soul and the mind. |
| The limbs may be free as the wings of a bird, |
| And the mind be the slave of a look and a word. |
| To gain thee men barter, eternity’s crown, |
| Yield honour, affection, and lasting renown. |
| 2 |
| | Look on this edifice of marble made— |
| How fair it swells, too beautiful to fade. |
| See what fine people in its portals crowd, |
| Smiling and greeting, talking, laughings loud! |
| What is it? Surely not a gay exchange, |
| Where wit and beauty social joys arrange; |
| Not a grand shop, where late Parisian styles |
| Attract rich buyers from a thousand miles? |
| But step within; no need of further search. |
| Behold, admire a fashionable church! |
| Look how its oriel window glints and gleams, |
| What tinted light magnificently streams |
| On the proud pulpit, carved with quaint device, |
| Where velvet cushions, exquisitely nice, |
| Press’d by the polish’d preacher’s dainty hands, |
| Hold a large volume clasp’d by golden bands. |
| 3 |
| | Nigh to a grave that was newly made, |
| Leaned a sexton old on his earth-worn spade. |
| 4 |
| | The mountain rill |
| Seeks with no surer flow the far bright sea, |
| Than my unchang’d affections flow to thee. |
| 5 |
| Beauty and grace command the world. | 6 |
| Flowers are love’s truest language. | 7 |
| Triumph not, O Time! strong towers decay, but a great name shall never pass away. | 8 | | |
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