A lark’s song dropped from heaven,
A rose’s breath at noon;
A still, sweet stream that flows and flows
Beneath a still, sweet moon:
A little way-side flower
Plucked from the grasses, thus-
A sound, a breath, a glance- and yet
What is it they bring to us?
For the world grows far too wise,
And wisdom is but grief;
Much thought makes but a weary way,
And question, unbelief.
Thank God for the bird’s song,
And for the flower’s breath!
Thank God for any voice to wake
The old sweet hymn of faith!
For a world grown all too wise,
(Or is it not wise enough?)
Thank God for anything that makes
The path less dark and rough!
