I saw God wash the world last night
with His sweet showers on high,
and then, when morning came, I saw
Him hang it out to dry.
He washed each tiny blade of grass
and every trembling tree;
He flung His showers against the hill,
and swept the billowing sea.
The white rose is a cleaner white,
the red rose is more red,
since God washed every fragrant face
and put them all to bed.
There's not a bird, there's not a bee
that wings along the way
but is a cleaner bird and bee
than it was yesterday.
William L. Stidger
1885-1949
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