Not worlds in phalanx deep
Need we to prove a God is here:
The Daisy fresh from winter’s sleep,
Tells of His hand in lines as clear.
For who but He that arch’d the skies,
And pours the day-spring’s living flood;
Wondrous alike in all He tries,
Could form the daisy’s purple bud?
Mould its green cup, its wiry stem,
Its crimson fringe so nicely spin;
And drench in dew the topaz gem
That, set in silver gleams within.
And fling it unrestrained and free,
O’er hill and dale and desert sod;
That man, where’er he walks may see
In every step the stamp of God.
—Dr. Mason Goode.
* This beautiful poem is the composition of a famous physician who wrote it after his conversion from Socinianism.—Editor.