Materia Medica

What are these unknown flowers That star this lovely earth Wasting through long sweet hours Their beauty and their worth?

What are these plants unknown That paint the desert's floor With a splendor all their own, Unheeded o'er and o'er.

O foolish Man and blind, Here is Earth's healing grace For thee and all thy kind To build the perfect race.

There springs no smallest flower In all the wilderness But God has given it power To lighten some distress.

Their truth shall make thee wise, Their virtues make thee whole, Their glory fill thine eyes With loveliness of soul.

This earth is holy ground, And every seed and spore In verity is bound Life's harmony to restore.

Each with its balm for pain Shall serve thy need, and prove They take God's name in vain Who reckon without love.