“PRAISE GOD!”
By B. J. Howe.

Each floral bell that to the wind is swaying,
On every hill and flower-enamel’d sod,
With grateful love, in sweetest tunes is saying,
“Praise God!”

Upon the trees the tender blossoms springing,
Pour fourth sweet incense at their Maker’s nod
While ‘mid their boughs the happy birds are singing,
“Praise God!”

The gentle stream that through the vale meanders,
Sending its moisture to each fruitful clod,
With tuneful voice is murmuring, as it wanders,
“Praise God!”

In its existence everything rejoices,
And fears no evil, no avenging rod;
But nature utter with her thousand voices,
“Praise God!”

Her purest accounts on the ear are falling,
O’er all the earth where human food hath trod;
Myriads of creatures everywhere are calling,
“Praise God!”