Earth's Fairest Flowers Grow Not on Sunny Plain
But where some vast upheaval rent in twain,
The smiling land . . .
After the whirlwinds devastating blast,
After the molten fire and ashen pall,
God's still small voice breathes healing over all.
From riven rocks and fern-clad chasms deep,
Flow living waters as from hearts that weep,
There in the afterglow soft dews distill,
And angels tend God's plants when night falls still,
And the Beloved passing by that way,
Will gather lilies at the break of day. -- J.H.D.
Photo by D.F.G. Hailson
