Tuesday, April 13, 2010


The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:--
We are as they;
Like them we fade away,
As doth a leaf.

The sparrows of the air of small account:
Our God doth view
Whether they fall or mount,--
He guards us too.

The lilies that do neither spin nor toil,
Yet are most fair:--
What profits all this care
And all this coil?

The birds that have no barn nor harvest-weeks;
God gives them food:--
Much more our Father seeks
To do us good.

(Poem by Christina Rossetti, 1866)

(Photo by Jim Bailey)

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