Isn’t It Wonderful

Isn't it wonderful, when you think, how the creeping grasses grow, High on the mountain's rocky brink, in the valley down below? A common thing is a grass-blade small, crushed by the feet that pass ; But all the dwarfs and giants tall, working till doomsday's shadows fall, Can't make a blade of grass. Isn't it wonderful, when you think, how the wild bird sings his song, Weaving melodies, link by link, the whole sweet summer long? Commonplace is the bird, allway, everywhere seen...