My life goes on in endless song
above Earth's lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
that hails a new creation.
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul;
How can I keep from singing?
Still—in a way—nobody sees a flower, really. It is so small—we haven't time—and to see takes time. Like to have a friend takes time.