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Painting of Sisters serving in the Civil War.

The Poetry of Mother Margaret George

Flowers

I love these frail and gentle things,
That bear the name of flowers --
For they are like the angel wings
That hued our childhood’s hours.

So softly clad in summer light,
And glistening with the dew,
They image all that’s fair and bright,
And beautiful and true.

O they are types of friends that smile
Upon our cheerless way,
And make the heart forget its guile,
And cast its cares away.

And yet like friends, they drop and fade,
Too frail to linger here,
But when their leaves are all decayed,
Their fragrance hovers near.

The flowers are friends, and friends are flowers –
In love and beauty given,
The one to light our darkest hours,
And both mirror heaven.

This poem, signed by Mother Margaret George, appears in her diary. The rose is taken from a page in her scrapbook.

In the whole circle of beautiful nature,
there is nothing which excites the imagination more delightfully than flowers,
because they have been made emblems
of the affections and used
as the language of the heart.

The above reflection appears in the diary of Mother Margaret George. The lily of the valley is taken from a page in her scrapbook.

 

"A heart filled with charity is a sanctuary
in which God Loves to dwell."

- Mother Margaret George

"The undivided soul is one
and God is one and asks it all;
Then make your vows to God alone
And harken to his Sovereign call.

- Mother Margaret George