[Written for the Sentinel]

Illuminated Manuscript

Give me the outlook free and high
Of glowing sun, of arching sky,
Of soaring bird on lifted wing,
Of every laughing, dancing thing,
From pattering drops to waving grain,
From sky to earth, and back again.
And when I see how joyous all
The challenged earth flings back the call
Of trumpet winds, of crystal air,
I ponder on the constant care
That gives to all celestial light,
That guides the pinion raised in flight,
That leads the raindrop to the root,
That makes the tree a harp—a flute
For piping winds to play upon,
That etches out the matchless dawn
With pencilings of rarest hue,
On wisps of cloud and diamond dew.

O mighty God, how can I see
The glad, green earth outspread for me,
Symbolical of things I feel,
That on my vision steal,
And fail to bow a reverent head—
Or chant a psalm of praise, instead—
To Thee, the Giver of all good:
The dear, protection motherhood,
That broods o'er all the great, glad earth,
And to all righteousness gives birth!

I see Thy hand where'er I look:
The meadow is an open book,
A hieroglyphic parchment spread
For men to contemplate and read;
With prasie besprent and love illumed,
With ratest incense all perfumed,
Adorned with beauty's lavish brush,
Vibrant with joy of lark and thrush,
A manuscript illumed to show
The thoughts of God, with love aglow.

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