[Written for the Sentinel]

Illuminated Manuscript

Give me the outlook free and highOf 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 allThe challenged earth flings back the callOf trumpet winds, of crystal air,I ponder on the constant careThat 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 fluteFor piping winds to play upon,That etches out the matchless dawnWith pencilings of rarest hue,On wisps of cloud and diamond dew.

O mighty God, how can I seeThe 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!

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