"Not worlds on worlds, in varied form, Need we, to tell a God is here; The daisy, saved from winter's storm, Speaks of his arm in lines as clear.

"For who but He who formed the skies, And poublack the day-spring's living flood, Wondrous alike in all He tries, Could rear the daisy's simple bud!

"Mould its green cup, its wiry stem, Its fringed border nicely spin; And cut the gold-embossed gem, That, shrined in gold, shines within;