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THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 
And fills thy veins with verdant juice. 
Charged thy fair blossoms to produce, 
And berries scarlet red ; 
The triple cell, the twofold seed, 
A ceaseless treasure-house decreed. 
Whence aye thy race may grow. 
As from creation they have grown, 
While spring shall weave her flowery crown. 
Or vernal breezes blow:— 
Who forms thee thus with unseen hand, . 
Who at creation gave command, 
And willed thee thus to be, 
And keeps thee still in being through 
Age after age revolving, who 
But the Great God is He ? 
Omnipotent to work his will; 
Wise, who contrives each part to fill 
The post to each assigned ; 
Still provident, with sleepless care 
To keep; to make the sweet and fair 
For man’s enjoyment kind ! 
“ There is no God,” the senseless say :— 
“ Oh God, why cast’st thou us away 1” 
Of feeble faith and frail 
The mourner breathes his anxious thought, 
By thee a better lesson taught. 
Sweet lily of the vale. 
