How Miracles Abound

How miracles abound In each small plot of ground⁠— Aye, in the sky above it! (Do you not love it, The vast of sky a-thrill with lyric sound?) Now comes, now goes, The wonder of the rose; Color or flower, and both a boon Renewed with dawn or June. Each day the hyacinthine twilight fills The chalice of the hills. Ever there’s some fresh nectary For the knight-errant bee. And song—ah, the blithe bounty that sheds beauty On the stern ways of duty! Forsooth the doctrine’s sound That miracles abound! E’en the green sod, Yea, or the umbered clod, Revealeth God!