In a Sunday morning sermon by Rev. W. C. Gannett of Boston, there are some very beautiful thoughts about the pleasure of the love of flowers. Referring to the oft repeated question, which is the fairest of them all, he responded, in these words and poem, which we think are truly beautiful:

" Where then is the place of the fairest, seeing that all eyes claim it as their own? Thoughts about beauty turn into poetry of themselves, and one can hardly think about flowers without twining his words with verse. Let me give this one delicate answer to our question " what one is fairest? "

The Daffodil sang, " Darling of the sun, Am I, am I that wear •His color everywhere!

The Violet pleaded soft in undertone,

Am I less perfect made,

Though hidden in the shade,

So close and deep that heaven may not see

Its own fair hue in me? "

The Rose stood up full blown

Right royal as a queen upon her throne,

" Nay, but I reign alone/'

She said " with all hearts for my own."

One whispered with faint flush not far away, "lam the eye of day

And all men love me;" and with drowsy sighs A Lotus from the still pond where she lay Breathed, "I am precious balm for weary eyes."

Only the fair field Lily, slim and tall,

Spake not for all Spake not, and did not stir,

Lapsed in some far and tender memory,

Softly I questioned her, u And what of these? "