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I did not argue with the man,
  It seemed a waste of words.
He gave to chance the wondrous plan
  That gave sweet song to birds.

He gave to force the wisdom wise
  That shaped the honeybee,
And made the useful butterflies
  So beautiful to see.

And as we walked 'neath splendid trees
  Which cast a friendly shade,
He said: "Such miracles as these
  By accident were made."

Too well I know what accident
  And chance and force disclose
To think blind fury could invent
  The beauty of a rose.

I let him talk and answered not.
  I merely thought it odd
That he could view a garden plot
  And not believe in God.

© Edgar Albert Guest