The Divine Impress

The Divine Impress

There's not a tint that paints the rose,

Or decks the lilly fair,

Or streaks the humblest flow'r that grows,

But heaven has placed it there.

At early dawn ther's not a gale,

Across the landscape driven,

And not a breeze that sweeps the vale,

That is not sent by Heaven.

There's not of grass a single blade,

Or leaf of lowliest mein,

Where heavenly skill is not displayed,

And heavenly wisdom seen.

There's not a tempest dark and dread,

Or storm that rends the air,

Or blast that sweeps o'er ocean's bed,

But Heaven's own voice is there.

There's not a star whose twinkling light

Illumes the distant earth,

And cheers the solemn gloom of night,

But mercy gave it birth.

There's not a cloud whose dews distil

Upon the parching clod,

And clothe with verdure, vale and hill,

That is not sent by God.

There's not a place in earth's vast round,

In ocean deep, or air,

Where skill and wisdom is not found,

For Christ is every where.

Around, beneath, below, above,

Wherever space extends,

There Heaven displays its boundless love,

And power with mercy blends.

July 20, 1837.

R. Fork

1:41, p. 4

1837.10.14

From the Southern Christian Advocate