  By MARY HARRISON. Ye flowers in your wonderful silence, Ye birds with your wonderful sound, The love of my God are declaring; For ye are the language he found. Ye smile to the eye of my spirit, Ye sing to the ear of my soul; Ye waken soft echoes of anthems Which over God’s Paradise roll. Ye bloom as ye bloomed once in Eden, Make holy and sacred the sod; Ye sing as you sang when in rapture Man counted you angels of God. By you—common things of the desert— God’s love has this miracle wrought: Ye fill me with exquisite gladness, With worship which silences thought. —London Sunday Magazine. decorative line Republics where high birth gives no right to the government of the state, are in that respect the most happy; for the people have less reason to envy an authority which they confer on whom they will, and which they can again take away when they choose.—Montesquieu. decorative line |
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