"Look to the lilies how they grow!" 'Twas thus the Saviour said, that we, Even in the simplest flowers that blow, God's ever-watchful care might see.

Stars are the daisies that begem The blue fields of the sky, Beheld by all, and everywhere, Bright prototypes on high.

The birds have ceased their songs, All save the blackbird, that from yon tall ash, 'Mid Pinkie's greenery, from his mellow throat, In adoration of the setting sun, Chants forth his evening hymn.

We are Lilies fair, The flower of virgin light; Nature held us forth, and said, "Lo! my thoughts of white." - Leigh Hunt (James Henry Leigh Hunt),

Very whitely still The lilies of our lives may reassure Their blossoms from their roots, accessible Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer; Growing straight out of man's reach, on the hill. God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.

And lilies white, prepared to touch The whitest thought, nor soil it much, Of dreamer turned to lover.