There breathes not a breath from the morning air,
But the Spirit of Love is moving there,
Not a trembling leaf on the shadowy tree
Mingled with thousands in harmony;
But the Spirit of God doth make the sound.
And the thoughts of the insect that creepeth around
And the sunshiny butterflies come and go.
Like beautiful thoughts moving to and fro;
And not a wave of their busy wings
Is unknown to the Spirit that moveth all things.
And the long-mantled moths, that sleep at noon-
All have one being that loves them all;
Not a fly in the spider’s web can fall,
But He cares for the spider and cares for the fly;
And He cares for each little child’s smile or sigh.
How it can be, I cannot know;
He is wiser than I; and it must be so.
– George MacDonald