St. Lawrence and the Saguenay, The - Part 97
He, love, who flushed the daisy built the world.
All things come perfect from His Master-hand.
The stars, His Thoughts, through wide creatior whirled,
Down to the minutest monad of sand
Upon the shore, in equal glory stand
Before His sight. But Man, and man alone,
He holds supremest of the works He planned:
And yet, how like Earth's faintest monotone,
Compared to Heaven's choir, he seems, when thrown.
All things come perfect from His Master-hand.
The stars, His Thoughts, through wide creatior whirled,
Down to the minutest monad of sand
Upon the shore, in equal glory stand
Before His sight. But Man, and man alone,
He holds supremest of the works He planned:
And yet, how like Earth's faintest monotone,
Compared to Heaven's choir, he seems, when thrown.
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