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LILIES.
Well do we know them; are they not most fair?Is not their loveliness all unsurpassed?From the varieties so bold and grandPlanted and cherished with man's tenderest careTo the most common garden specimenThat half-unheeded grows in cottage plot,What is there in the kingdoms of the worldThat can outvie their evanescent charms?
How wondrously they grow! It is not longSince they were nought but roots in a dry groundWithout or form, or comeliness, or powerTo fashion their own glory; and frail manMust needs cease from the utmost he can do,And impotently leave them to their fate.Yet, while he disregards and takes his rest,They spring up silently, he knows not how.First comes a peep of green, expanding soonInto prophetic leafage, till at lengthThe beauteous, complex flowers in clusters bloom.
To such fair flowers He pointed, He who spakeAs spake none other; He interpretedFor us their precious import, bade them bearEloquent witness to a Father's love,Teach profound lessons of the mind of God,And speak of life and growth beyond their own,And promise food and raiment, and proclaimVast stores of wealth for our incessant need,And set our anxious questionings at rest.
Yet deeper far our need than aught of earthCan ever satisfy; more helpless weThan words can utter, naked, cold, and faint.Raiment we crave, and food, and all our toilIs vain our spirit-yearning to appease.
