Apple Blossoms

God might have clothed the apple trees
In scentless brown or gray --
Such frail and fleeting blossoming,
So soon to pass away --

Instead of this fair springtime garb
Of fragrant pink and pearl,
That flutters down like rosy snow
On every breeze a-whirl.

His goodness gives the pleasant fruit
On laden boughs down-bent;
His lovingkindness adds the bloom,
Its beauty and its scent.

He loads us with His benefits
Until no want we know,
And then He sends the little more
That makes our cup o'erflow.

He opens wide His hand of love;
He gives no stingy dole;
His tender mercies crown our days:
O bless the Lord, my soul!

Annie Johnson Flint

Psalm 103:2 Bless the LORD,
O my soul, and forget not all his benefits:

Psalm 34:9 O fear the LORD, ye his saints:
for there is no want to them that fear him.