(Macmillan's Magazine, Jan. 1866.)
ConsiderThe lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:-- We are as they; Like them we fade away,As doth a leaf.
ConsiderThe sparrows of the air of small account: Our God doth viewWhether they fall or mount,-- He guards us too.
ConsiderThe lilies that do neither spin nor toil, Yet are most fair:-- What profits all this careAnd all this coil?
ConsiderThe birds that have no barn nor harvest-weeks; God gives them food:--Much more our Father seeks To do us good.