The Flower-Angels

Of old, with goodwill from the skies- God's message to them given- The angels came, a glad surprise, And went again to heaven. But now the angels are grown rare, Needed no more as then; Far lowlier messengers can bear God's goodwill unto men. Each year, the snowdrops' pallid dawn Breaks from the earth below; Light spreads, till, from the dark updrawn, The noontide roses glow. The snowdrops first-the dawning gray; Then out the roses burn! They speak their word, grow dim-away To holy dust return. Of oracles were little dearth, Should heaven continue dumb; From lowliest corners of the earth God's messages will come. In thy face his we see, O Lord, And are no longer blind; Need not so much his rarer word, In flowers even read his mind.