Flowers preach to us if we will hear.
And all winds go sighing For sweet things dying.
Love shall be our token; love be yours and love be mine.
Obedience is the fruit of faith.
Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I but when the trees bow down their heads, the wind is passing by.
The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear, And Paradise hath room for you and me and all.