A poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti

(Macmillan's Magazine, Jan. 1866.)

The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief: -
We are as they;
Like them we fade away,
As doth a leaf.

The sparrows of the air of small account:
Our God doth view
Whether they fall or mount, -
He guards us too.

The lilies that do neither spin nor toil,
Yet are most fair: -
What profits all this care
And all this coil?

The birds that have no barn nor harvest-weeks;
God gives them food: -
Much more our Father seeks
To do us good.

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