Flowers

They are autographs of angels, penned
In Nature's green-leaved book, in blended tints,
Borrowed from rainbows and the sunset skies,
And written everywhere--on plain and hill,
In lonely dells, 'mid crowded haunts of men;
On the broad prairies, where no eye save God's
May read their silent, sacred mysteries.
Thank God for flowers! They gladden human hearts;
Seraphic breathings part their fragrant lips
With whisperings of Heaven.

Flowers, poem by Albert Laighton 

 

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