Oh, I am so glad, said the little rose,
To grow!
So glad of the dew and the soft fresh winds
That blow!
So glad I can lift my petals pink
From the clod;
Praise God! cried the rose, in her own sweet way,
Praise God!
Oh, I am so glad, cried the little brook,
To flow!
To wend my way from the mount to the vale
Below;
To ripple cool by the rocks and the fair
Green sod.
Praise God! cried the brook, as it sang to the sea,
Praise God!
Oh, I am so glad, said a son of man,
For life!
For the power to be and do in a noble
Strife:
To joyously act, and neither shirk
Nor plod.
Praise God! cried the man, as he sang at his work,
Praise God!
