There's not a leaf within the bower,
There's not a bird upon the tree,
There's not a dew-drop on the flower,
But bears the impress, Lord, of Thee!

Thy hand the varied leaf design'd,
And gave the bird its thrilling tone;
Thy power the dew-drops' tints combined,
Till like a diamond's blaze they shone!

Yes, dew-drops, leaves, and buds, and all--
The smallest, like the greatest things--
The sea's vast space, the earth's wide ball,
Alike proclaim thee King of Kings.

But man alone to bounteous heaven
Thanksgiving's conscious strains can raise;
To favour'd man alone 'tis given,
To join the angelic choir in praise!

* * * * *




THE STEPPING-STONES.


The struggling rill insensibly is grown
Into a brook of loud and stately march,