A Prayer To The God Of Nature

A Prayer To The God Of Nature

God of the roadside weed,
Grant I may humbly serve the humblest need.

God of the scarlet rose,
Give me the beauty that Thy love bestows.

God of the honey bees,
Help me to reach deep joys from all I see.

God of the spider's lure,
Let me, from mine own heart, unwind such grace.

God of the lilly's cup,
Till me! I hold the empty chalice up.

God of the sea -gull's wings,
Bear me above each dark and turbulent thing.

God of the watchful owl,
Help me to see at midnight, like this fowl.

God of the antelope,
Teach me to scale the highest crags of Hope.

God of the burrowing mole,
Let cold earth have no terror for my soul.

God of the chrysalis
Grant that my grave may be a call of bliss.

God of the butterfly,
Help me to vanquish Death, although I die.

~  Fredric Lawrence Knowles

From my mother's poetry notebook

Hang Me Among Your Winds

Hang Me Among Your Winds

Hang me among your winds, O God,
     Above the tremulous stars,
Like a harp of quivering silver strings,
     Showering, as it swings,
          Its tuneful bars
     Of eerie music on the earth.

Play over me, God,
     Your cosmic melodies;
The gusty overture for Spring's
     Caprice and wayward April's mirth;
          The sensuous serenade
     Of summer, languid in the alder glade;
          The wistful symphonies
     Of Autumn; and Winter's rhapsodies
          Among the drifted dunes --
     Her lullabies and her torrential tunes
Moody with wild cadenzas, with fitful stress
          And poignant soundlessness.

Touch me, O God, with but a gesture --
     And let each finger sweep
Over my strings until they leap
     With life; and rain
Their silver chimes upon the plain,
In harmonies of far celestial spaces
     Of high and holy places.

~ Lew Sarett

From my mother's poetry notebook

Phantasy

Phantasy

Have you ever known the wonder of a June day in the clouds
With a soft breeze gently tugging at your bark?
Known the joy of sailing, sailing
Over mountain peak and town
Like a carefree wren or jasper meadow lark?
Have you felt the downy softness of a cloud upon your cheek,
Known the comfort of one pillowed neath your arm?
Known the thrill of drifting, drifting
Over endless seas of blue
On a balmy breeze that blows caresses warm?
Snow-white clouds float out to meet you,
Crystal palaces glide by,
Hazy dancers beckon to you from afar;
Rome may fall and worlds may totter,
Does it matter to you now
When your cloud skiff sails so surely for a star?

~ Margaret Harvey

From my mother's poetry notebook

June Belongs To Me

June Belongs To Me

June belongs to me;
It is my legacy.

I treasure its sunny days,
It's panoply of wandering clouds
With sky-blue seas and open bays,
The haunts of thunder-surf reverberating loud.

Part of my wealth and my delight
Is new-green leaves that dance in the day
And whisper in awe at night
At the bright moon's silver-painting ray.

I count the warmth of summer rain,
The thirsty sun that drinks the water-ridden air,
The thrush's joyously ringing refrain
That spills from a swelling throat as I listen there.
I hoard the dark aroma of the wood,
Where the shadows seem to be weighed down
And lazy hours move in ponderous mood,
And brooks fashion of each boulder a jeweled crown.

And like a miser I grasp the ever-changing sight
A flash of wing, a shift of light so brief,
The splendor of the days, the secrets of the night
The fierceness of joy; and the mellowing of grief.

June belongs to me:
A priceless legacy.

~ Robert Lee Chadbourne

From my mother's poetry notebook

Sharing

Sharing

Ah, you will take the high path,
And I will take the low,
Thus missing none of beauty
As thro' this life we go.

And you will watch a white cloud,
And I will watch a star,
To find alluring jewels
That are hidden near or far.

Ah, we will watch for loveliness
And see the glorious Spring
Salute the year whose beauty is
An anthem that we sing.

Ah, you will watch the sunset
And I the clouds so fair,
Thus double joys will greet us
As we kneel to God in prayer.

You will look for birds and trees
While I will look for flowers,
And in the glowering twilight
We will share the happy hours.

~ Ursula Miller

From my mother's poetry notebook

My Paradise

My Paradise

The Gate to Yesterday swings wide,
And bids us seek the countryside,
Far from the throngs of human-tide,
Where memories of youth abide.

A peaceful paradise you'll find
In wood or field, to soothe the mind.
Just leave the busy streets behind,
And roam with me where lone trails wind.

To find this wild and carefree place,
The narrow trail you need but trace
Through forest aisles and open space
Beyond the city's great white ways.

You'll see the giant forest trees
And other glories such as these.
You'll listen to the whispering breeze,
Which worries hastily appease.

Forget the technics of a creed,
The strife for glory and for speed.
With nature filling every need,
Man rises over selfish greed.

Wild Paradise has mountain streams
Whose tumbling crystal water seems
To come from shadow land of dreams
Up where the snowy glacier gleams.

So come with me along the trail,
O'er rocky steep and down the vale,
We'll hear the calling of the quail,
And watch the rambling of the rail.

Our paradise will reach the sea,
Where billows heave eternally,
And ocean winds come ceaselessly
Across the waves so wild and free.

Then in some shady, cool retreat,
Where sun and shadows slyly meet
Beyond the deserts' torrid heat,
We'll make our paradise complete.

We'll seek the lowland and the fen,
The sunny hillside and the glen;
We'll listen to the lark, and then --
We'll meet the robin and the wren.

The red-wing swings on bending reed,
The bittern stalks among the weed.
On airy wings the swallows speed
O'er lake and stream and sunny mead.

At eve the catbird leads the choir,
Then follows owl from hillside higher.
The frogs tune in with harp and lyre
While glowworms light the heaven fire.

This peaceful paradise of mine
Is also waiting to be thine.
When weary of the world's design
Come make my paradise your shrine.

~ A. K. Mehl

From my mother's poetry notebook

The Eagle

The Eagle

He clasps the crag with crooked hands,
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

~ Alfred Lord Tennyson

from my mother's poetry notebook

Contentment

John Burroughs Speaks of Contentment

I have loved the feel of the grass under my feet, and the sound of the running streams by my side.  The hum of the wind in the tree-tops has always been good music to me, and the face of the fields has often comforted me more than the faces of men.

I am in love with this world, by my constitution I have nestled lovingly in it.  It has been home.  It has been my point of outlook into the universe.  I have not bruised myself against it, nor tried to use it ignobly.

I have tilled its soil, I have gathered its harvest, I have waited upon its seasons, and always have reaped what I have sown.

While I delved I did not lose sight of the sky overhead.  While I gathered its bread and meat for my body, I did not neglect to gather its bread and meat for my soul.

I have climbed its mountains, roamed its forests, sailed its waters, crossed its deserts, felt the sting of its frosts, the oppression of its heats, the drench of its rains, the fury of its winds, and always have beauty and joy waited upon my goings and comings.

From my mother's poetry notebook

God Passed Along Our Countryside

God Passed Along Our Countryside

God passed along our countryside
Last night with quiet tread,
So silently He came and passed
No sleeper turned his head.
And not till dawn His children knew
The pageant of surprise
That all about, on hill and glen,
Lay there like Paradise.

God passed along our countryside
That is as fair and old,
And clothed the poplar and the oak
With crimson and with gold.
He smiled upon the shrinking bush,
The sapling so forlorn,
And gave them robes of purple hue
To match the flaming morn.

God passed along our countryside,
And now His children know
There's greater good for those in store
Who love Him here below.
For every day, like autumn, comes
With blessings new and old.
And helps me think of that fair clime,
Whose gates are pearl and gold.

~ Calvin Lauper

From my mother's poetry notebook

Scarlet Tanager

Scarlet Tanager

I saw him in a mountain gorge
And held my breath with wonder.
So startlingly beautiful
He was, the roaring thunder
Of water falling from the heights,
The pine bough's windy turning
Was but a background for a bird
Whose vivid scarlet burning
Caught my eyes and dazzled them.
A quivering aspen springing
From the wet rocks bore a flame
Like a lantern swinging.
His iridescent tail and wings,
Each black metallic feather
Glittered in the gorgeous light
Of the mountain weather.
Cold green water, silver spray,
An aspen, frail and slender
Against the high dark wall of pines,
A small bird's blazing splendor --
That brilliant picture struck me blind
And burned its beauty on my mind.

~ Grace Noll Crowell

From my mother's poetry notebook

The Joy Of Living

The Joy of Living

The south wind is driving
His splendid cloud-horses
Through vast fields of blue.
The bare woods are singing,
The brooks in their courses
Are bubbling and springing
And dancing and leaping,
The violets peeping.
I'm glad to be living;
Aren't you?

~ Gamaliel Bradford

From My Mother's Poetry Notebook

Lessons From Nature

From My Mother’s Poetry Notebook: Lessons from nature

MARY LOUISE HOOLEY-CARLISLE·WEDNESDAY, APRIL 13, 2016

From the prisons of anxious tho’ts that greed has builded,

From the fetters that envy has wrought, and pride had gilded,

From the noise of the crowded ways and the fierce confusion,

From the folly that wastes its days in the world of illusion,

(Ah, but the life is lost that frets and languishes there!)

I would escape to be free in the joy of the open air.

By the faith that the flowers show when they bloom unbidden,

By the calm of the river’s flow to a goal that is hidden,

By the trust of the tree that clings to its deep foundation,

By the courage of wild birds’ wings on the longing migration,

(Wonderful secret of peace that abides in nature’s breast!)

Teach me how to confide, and live my life, and rest.

~ H. Van Dyke (untitled)

God's Grandeur

God's Grandeur
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
   It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
   It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed.  Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
   And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
   And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
   There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
   Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs --
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
   World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.