FLORA AND THALIA. 183 



THE FLOWERS OF THE FIELD PROVE 



Not worlds on worlds, in phalanx deep, 

 Need we to prove a God is here ; 

 The Daisy, fresh from Winter's sleep, 

 Tells of his hand in lines as clear. 



For what but He who arched the skies 

 And pours the day-spring's living flood, 

 Wond'rous alike in all he tries. 

 Could raise the Daisy's purple bud 1 



Mould its green cup, its wiry stem, 

 Its fringed border nicely spin ; 

 And cut the gold-embossed gem 

 That, set in silver, gleams within ] 



And fling it unrestrained and free, 

 O'r hill and dale, and desert sod, 

 That man, where'er he walks, may see 

 In ev'ry step the stamp of God 1 



DR. MASON GOOD. 



