A Hidden Life and Other Poems. George MacDonald

      Henceforth my mind was never crossed

        By thought of vanished gold,

      But with it came the guardian host

        Of flowers both meek and bold.

      The loss is riches while I live,

        A joy I would not lose:

      Choose ever, God, what Thou wilt give,

        Not leaving me to choose.

      "What said the flowers in whisper low,

        To soothe me into rest?"

      I scarce have words—they seemed to grow

        Right out of God's own breast.

      They said, God meant the flowers He made,

        As children see the same;

      They said the words the lilies said