O beautiful sky of every hue; Golden and purple, crimson and blue, With some sombre lines thrown in between, And some bright spots of emerald green. The earth is wed to the sun it seems, And to grace the robe of his royal bride No pains are spared, nor a tint untried, And thus complete it with glory gleams. He wields his brush as an artist now; Lo beauty glows on the earth's fair brow! And the lovely flowers at once arise To match the glow of the radiant skies, The sparkling dewdrops at morn are seen, Close nestling among the petals rare, Like crystal studs in a maiden's hair, Brighter then gems which adorn a queen. BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES Buttercups and daisies growing everywhere, In the field of clover, on the hillside fair, And in lovely valley, tilled with greatest care. Naught but weeds and rubbish, in the farmer's eyes, Drawing off the nurture from the grain they prize, And their great luxuriance sore their patience tries. But the dews of heaven give them richest bloom, And their smiling beauty drives away our gloom; For such little beauties surely there is room. In this world of sorrow flowers ne'er bloom in vain, Though they in their blooming sap the golden grain, And drink in the moisture of the latter rain; For our Heavenly Father deemed it wise and good To diffuse this beauty with the grain for food. And this wise arrangement He has never rued. Teaching us this lesson we are slow to learn; Man lives not for eating, nor for duties stern, But to serve God's pleasure, then to Him return. Room for joy is given and for purest bliss, And we may all find them in a world like this, If our aims are sordid all this gold we miss; But if we are faithful and to God inclined, Seeing Him in nature, and of heavenly mind, Aiming to be like Him, and by grace refined, We shall live forever where there is no gloom; Though the path to glory leadeth through the tomb; But a moment's darkness--flowers that ever bloom. THE MOSS ROSE 'Tis said, long since an angel came to earth, Sent by his Lord, to help with loving hand A suffering one, afflicted from his birth. The limb was healed as by divine command, But He felt weak, for strength from Him had gone, A sacrifice which love could not withhold; So he sought shelter till the morning dawn, But none received--they prized not love, but gold. Then 'neath a rose bush did the angel lie, And rested well until the break of day, When much refreshed he sought his home on high, But ere he started on his upward way, He said to sheltering rose, in loving voice, "What man refused thou hast afforded me. What is thy wish? Make known to me thy choice; The God of love and power will grant it thee!"