the sparrow's wing.
Ye can read old Nature's history that's writ in rocks
an' stones,
Ye can see her throbbin' vitals an' her mighty rack
o' bones,
But the soul o' her—the livin' God, a little child
may know
No lens er rule o' cipherin' can ever hope t' show.
There's a part o' God's creation very handy t' yer
view,