Every flower that decks the way,
Whether it be dun or gay,
Fills a place in God's great plan,
Serving Him, while pleasing man.
Every star that gilds the night
With its beams of silver light
Has its mission to fulfil,
As assigned it by God's will.
Feathered songsters all declare
As they cleave the ambient air,
“He who made us made our lays,
Giving each a note of praise;
Each one's note, unique and sweet,
Helps to make the song complete;
Various tones, yet all agree,
Forming one grand symphony.”
So, also, does God's own hand
Fix in place each grain of sand,
Tiny though that grain may be
Hangs on it the destiny
Of a world, yea, systems whole,
As they in their orbits roll;
Should it from its globe remove,
Worlds would clash and chaos prove.
When we reach the world of mind
Law and order still we find;
In God's purpose is a plan
For the life of every man.
Free, he may his own course choose,
Help divine through pride refuse,
But disorder will ensue —
Life a wreck! Yet God is true.