Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith—Matthew 6:30.
The clouds float by on seraph wings;
Care-free above the skylark sings,
And soars, and sails on parted wings.
Can I not trust in God who brings
His good unto the humbler things?
The tender flowers bloom in bliss
Whose perfumed sweetness feels the kiss
Of bees and wakened chrysalis.
Earth-dreams are bright. Yet even this
Scarce shadows that which heaven is.
By silent sands where sea meets stream,
And sailing, white-winged sea gulls gleam,
Still ships float on as in a dream.
Will not His love that calms the sea
All rest and good provide for me?
The crystal stream, slow winding, drifts
Beneath the leaves between whose rifts
The gleaming golden sunlight sifts.
Oh, will not He who guides each day
Direct each thought upon its way?
The sea, the sky, the sun, the sand,
The perfumed rose, the life-filled land,
The mighty things are in His hand.
How surely, then, God governs me
And rules my life in harmony!
