The Poetry of Flowers. 
M7 
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 thee sweet and fair 
For man's enjoyment—kind ! 
“There is no God,” the senseless say :— 
“ O God ! why cast’st thou us away?” 
Of feeble faith and frail, 
The mourner breathes his anxious thought; 
By thee a better lesson taught, 
Sweet Lily of the Vale ! 
Yes, He who made and fosters thee, 
In Reason's eye perforce must be 
Of majesty divine ; 
Nor deems she that His guardian care 
Will He in man's support forbear, 
Who thus provides for thine. 
