Who Made the Flowers?

Mamma, who made the pretty flowers
That blossom everywhere?
The daisies and forget-me-nots,
And violets so fair?

Who made the golden buttercups,
That in the meadows grow?
The bright-eyes little innocence,
And lillies white as snow?

Who made the wild red columbines,
And filled each tiny cup
With honey, which the little bees
So daintily sip up?

Who made the fragrant clover-fields,
That drink the summer showers?
It must have taken very long
To make so many flowers.

Mamma, who keeps the flowers alive,
And clothes them every day?
Who watches over them by night,
To keep all harm away?

‘Tis God, my child, who formed the flowers
So exquisitely fair,
And they, with all his hand hath made,
His kind protection share.

He formed each leaf and opening bud,
With skill so nice and true;
He gave to some a golden tint,
To some a violet hue.

He shields the tender flowers by night,
And cares for them by day;
He giveth to each different plant
Its beautiful array.

He sends the soft refreshing rain,
The gentle summer showers,
And light, and air, and falling dew,
He giveth to the flowers.

‘Tis the same God who formed the flowers
Makes my sweet child his care;
Then daily raises thine infant heart
To him in grateful prayer.

Adapted From "Pleasure Book for Little Folks"