There's not a tint that paints the rose,
Or decks the lily fair,
Or streaks the humblest flower that blows,
But God has placed it there.
At early dawn, there's not a gale
Across the landscape driven,
And not a breeze that sweeps the vale,
That is not sent by Heaven.
There's not, of grass, a single blade,
Or leaf of loveliest green,
Where heavenly skill is not displayed,
And heavenly wisdom seen.
There's not a tempest, dark and dread,
Or storm that rends the air,
Or blast that sweeps the ocean's bed,
But God's own voice is there.
Around,--beneath,--below,--above,--
Wherever space extends,
There God displays His boundless love,
And power with mercy blends.