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.