Upon our heart-garden,
Oh, let thy love rain,
Like fresh summer showers
Upon the young grain.
Like soft, gentle dew
Upon the dry earth,
Which opens the old buds,
And to new ones gives birth.
O, teach us to offer
Good deeds in thy praise,
And acts of true charity
Be the hymns that we raise.
From all that will harm us,
Or sorrow will bring,
Oh, keep us, dear Lord,
Beneath thy bright wing.
WHO MADE THE FLOWERS?
Say, Ma! did God make all the flowers
That richly bloom to-day?
And is it he that sends sweet showers
To make them look so gay?
Did he make all the mountains
That rear their heads so high?
And all the little fountains
That glide so gently by?