SPIRITUAL SENSES

JACOB ANDREW HENRY

I SEE the God-thought in the tiny flower
That peeps thro' grassy bed its timid face;
And in th' emblazoned sun that hour by hour
Trails countless satellites thro' boundless space.

I hear the God-voiced harmonies, alike,
Of happy bird-song thrilling soft and low,
And of the wind-lashed ocean-waves which strike
The rock-ribbed shore with loud resounding blow.

I taste God's bounty in the simple crust
Made from the grain His Father-care bestows;
And in the richer fruitage of eternal trust
Fresh from the land where milk and honey flows.

I scent the dainty petals of a rose,
And apprehend its fragrance; yet no art
Nor human understanding can disclose
The finger-prints where God has touched its heart.

I feel—ah, yes!—I feel the God-nursed growth,
Not with the finger-tips of mortal sense,
But with the vast intelligence of truth
Which reaches Love,—divine omnipotence!

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