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OH, give us
pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to
think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us
here
All simply in the springing of the year.
Oh,
give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing
else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy
in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the
perfect trees.
And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor
that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom
in mid air stands still.
For this is love and nothing
else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it
only needs that we fulfil.
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