A Miracle? Is it more strange than nature's common way? From out the common clay A shaft of green is lifted toward the sun, And from its heart is spun Fair fabrics ere its day is done— Whorled leaves, an airy stem, A crimson, fragile diadem, And who can tell Whence came the power thus to compel A little seed beneath the sod To fashion such a wondrous rod? A miracle?—A thought of God Which science scorns— Is it more strange than flowers and thorns That spring these mystic forms to birth From out the trodden paths of Earth? |