All flowers of garden, field and hill this borrowed beauty find: what Jesus taught they teach us still, and bring our Lord to mind. Where sheaves of Galilean corn their whitened harvest yield, where blue and purple robes adorn the lilies of the field, Where meadow grasses green and tall await the reapers' hands, or sheltered by the sunlit wall a barren fig-tree stands, We hear his voice; as in their turn those first disciples heard: in nature's picture-book we learn to read the Master's word. The thorn that scars a Saviour's head, the palms the people wave, the balsam wrapped about the dead, the myrrh to mark his grave, Or Joseph's plot where olives bloom and tangled branches twine to bear above the empty tomb the true and living vine, They speak of him; and with one voice lift silent songs above: `All creatures of our God, rejoice, his saving Name is Love!'