SOMETIMES a little flower will tell us more 

Of God's good wisdom than the grandest words

That ever preacher preached or organ chords 

Thundered within the temple's sacred door!

A flying seed wafted on busy wind, 

A bird-nest hiding where the branches lean, 

A glimpse of sunlit valley, left behind, 

With sweet homes nestling in the living green, 

Some friendly voice that greets us on the road 

In common salutation brief and kind, 

A gentle glance by stranger eyes bestowed, 

The dear face of a child with tender meaning lined,

A lonely grave where violet buds have blown 

These are the presents by which-God is known.