And the sweet blue violet blooms alone—just for itself and God.
It is aye the same old lesson, from mountain, wood, and sea,
The old, old story, ever new, and wondrous grand to me—
Of One who holds the waters in the hollow of his hand;
Whose presence shone from mountain top in that far eastern land.
"The groves are God's own temples"; the wild birds sing his praise;
And every flower in the forest dim its humble tribute pays;
For God loves all his creatures, however weak and small;
His grandest works give praise to him, for he is Lord of all.
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