Sweet flow­ers are bloom­ing in God’s sight,
Created by His word,
Beneath His heav’n of su­nny light,
By spring’s quick puls­es stirred.

Through sky blue depths the larks do sing:
Their mu­sic fills the air;
What is it makes their voic­es ring
With glad­ness ev­ery­where?

It is the love of God, I know,
His world with joy doth fill;
His birds that sing, His flow­ers that blow,
Each of them does His will.

If He is glad when small birds sing,
And flow­ers drink the dew,
Can I, His child, do any­thing
To bring Him serv­ice too?

I am not wise, nor great, nor strong,
But I His will may do;
May love and serve Him all day long,
Be in­no­cent and true.

And if to birds and flow­ers His smile
Of love and joy be giv’n,
His child shall serve Him all the while,
And find that love is Heav’n.