17. The Voice of the Flowers.
Dear Lord, who in thy love so great
Didst frame this world of ours,
And its fair robe of green create,
All bright with blooming flowers:
By thy sweet will, o'er hill and dale,
Each plant and leafy tree
Are bearers of a welcome tale,
That speaks to us of thee.
The little snowdrop's hardy birth
Amid the winter's snow,
Thine infant days on this rude earth
In Bethl'hem's cave doth shew.
In the fair lily's spotless white
Thy virgin life we see;
Oh, make it, Lord, our fond delight
Thus to resemble thee.
As day by day the budding rose
Unveils its blushing hue,
So doth thy tender love disclose
A beauty ever new.
And e'en the violet of the dell
Has its own word of thee,
Delighting evermore to tell
Of thy humility.
Thus not a plant that scents the gale,
Or blossom on the tree,
But tells its own instructive tale,
