Lines To My Sister With A Chrysanthemum. Poem by Fidelia S T Hill

Fair flower of Christmas — white chrysanthemum!
I mark thy blossoms wave, thy fragile form
Bend to the breeze, yet brave the wintry storm.
Dark are the days that with thy blossoms come
For brighter hours are fled, and thou alone,
Dost garnish Flora's wreath, now summer's buds are gone.
True to the fading year, an emblem thou
Of the tried christian in affliction's hour,
He bends, but sinks not when the tempests lour,
And round his brow stern sorrow's breezes blow;
Still to high heaven, in praise he lifts his head,
Tho' hope, and joy, and health, and friends are fled!
The christian too may something learn from thee:
As from the chiding of rude winter's breath
Thy form rebounds elastic: such is faith
'Neath sorrow's pressure: — Truth and purity,
Are in thy spotless blossoms whiteness seen,
And hope, unfading hope in thy bright leaves of green.
O that the graces time can ne'er destroy,
May be my Sister's; 'tis my fervent prayer:
For youthful charms, like Summer flow'rets are.
And baseless as the dreams of youthful joy,
The bright, but fading glories of a day,
Be thine the wreath my Jane, which ne'er can fade away.