There is A Master painter
Who lives up above
With each stroke of His brush,
He paints us some love.
Who lives up above
With each stroke of His brush,
He paints us some love.
He paints the purple violets
And the yellow daffodils,
With the deepest orange sunset
Between the valleys and hills
And the yellow daffodils,
With the deepest orange sunset
Between the valleys and hills
He paints us a rainbow,
After the rain.
Then, He brushes on some moon-glow,
Above the rugged terrain.
After the rain.
Then, He brushes on some moon-glow,
Above the rugged terrain.
He paints our skies;
The mountains, and streams;
The blues of blues
And the greenest of greens.
The mountains, and streams;
The blues of blues
And the greenest of greens.
He paints us the perfect portrait,
With His tender works of art.
He shows us, in every pastel rose,
The love within His heart.
With His tender works of art.
He shows us, in every pastel rose,
The love within His heart.
This beauty and perfection,
That He paints for us to share
Is A Masterpiece, right here on earth,
In which no artist can compare.
That He paints for us to share
Is A Masterpiece, right here on earth,
In which no artist can compare.
