Flowers Preach To Us If We Will

Gone Were But The Winter, Come Were But The Spring, I Would Go To A Covert Where The Birds Sing; Where In The Whitethorn Singeth A Thrush, And A Robin Sings In The Holly-bush. Full Of Fresh Scents Are The Budding Boughs Arching High Over A Cool Green House: Full Of Sweet Scents, And Whispering Air Which Sayeth Softly: We Spread No Snare; Here Dwell In Safety, Here Dwell Alone, With A Clear Stream And A Mossy Stone. Here The Sun Shineth Most Shadily; Here Is Heard An Echo Of The Far Sea, Though Far Off It Be.

A Pin Has A Head, But Has No Hair

Because The Birthday Of My Life Is Come, My Love Is Come To Me.

Fair As The Moon And Joyful As The Light; Tot Wan With Waiting, Not With Sorrow Dim; Not As She Is, But Was When Hope Shone Bright; Not As She Is, But As She Fills His Dreams.

Open Wide The Windows Of Our Spirits And Fill Us Full Of Light; Open Wide The Door Of Our Hearts, That We May Receive And Entertain Thee With All Our Powers Of Adoration.