They are autographs of angels, penned In Nature’s green-leaved book, in blended tints, Borrowed from rainbows and the sunset skies, And written everywhere–on plain and hill, In lonely dells, ‘mid crowded haunts of men; On the broad prairies, where no eye save God’s May read their silent, sacred mysteries. Thank God for flowers! They gladden human hearts; Seraphic breathings part their fragrant lips With whisperings of Heaven.