The Country Beautiful

I love the little daisies on the lawn

Which contemplate with wide and placid eyes

The blue and white enamel of the skies —

The larks which sing their mattin-song at dawn,

High o'er the earth, and see the new Day born,

All stained with amethyst and amber dyes.

I love the shadowy woodland's hidden prize

Of fragrant violets, which the dewy morn

Doth open gently underneath the trees

To cast elusive perfume on each hour —

The waving clover, full of drowsy bees,

That take their murmurous way from flower to flower.

Who could but think — deep in some sun-flecked glade —

How God must love these things that He has made?