Poem: O God, With Goodness All Thy Own

Former president of the U.S. John Quincy Adams (1767-1848) was a noted poet as well as leader; here he praises God for his bountiful Creation.


O God, With Goodness All Thy Own


FOR thee in Zion waiteth praise,
  O God, O thou that hearest prayer;
To thee the suppliant voice we raise;
  To thee shall all mankind repair.
On thee the ends of earth rely;
  In thee the distant seas confide;
By thee the mountains brave the sky,
  And girded by thy strength abide.

Thou speakest to the tempest peace;
  The roaring wave obeys thy nod;
The tumults of the people cease;
  Earth trembles at the voice of God;
The morning's dawn, the evening's shade,
  Alike thy power with gladness see;
The fields from thee the rains receive,
  And swell with fruitfulness by thee.

Thy river, gracious God, o'erflows;
  Its streams for human wants provide;
At thy command the harvest grows,
  By thy refreshing showers supplied;
Thy bounty clothes the plains with grass;
  Thy path drops fairness as it goes;
And wheresoe'er thy footsteps pass,
  The desert blossoms like a rose.

Thy goodness crowns the circling year;
  The wilderness repeats thy voice;
The mountains clad with flocks appear;
  The hills on every side rejoice;
And harvest from the valleys spring;
  The reaper's sickle they employ;
And, hark! How hill and valley ring
  With universal shouts of joy!

Poem: Why are we by all creatures waited on?

A reflection on the supremacy of Man above the rest of God's Creation, by John Donne.



Why are we by all creatures waited on?


Why are we by all creatures waited on?
Why do the prodigal elements supply
Life and food to me, being more pure than I,
Simple, and further from corruption?
Why brook'st thou, ignorant horse, subjection?
Why dost thou, bull and boar, so seelily
Dissemble weakness, and by one man's stroke die
Whose whole kind you might swallow and feed upon?
Weaker I am, woe's me, and worse than you,
You have not sinn'd, nor need be timorous.
But wonder at a greater wonder, for to us
Created nature doth these things subdue,
But their Creator, whom sin nor nature tied,
For us, his Creatures and his foes, hath died.

Poem: Visit me with Thy salvation

As God takes care of the blade of grass, even more does He offer salvation to the human soul.  Written by American Transcendentalist Jones Very.



Visit me with Thy salvation


          Wilt Thou not visit me?
The plant beside me feels Thy gentle dew;
          Each blade of grass I see,
From Thy deep earth its quickening moisture drew.

          Wilt Thou not visit me?
Thy morning calls on me with cheering tone;
          And every hill and tree
Lend but one voice, the voice of Thee alone.

          Come! for I need Thy love,
More than the flower the dew, or grass the rain;
          Come, like Thy holy dove,
And let me in Thy sight rejoice to live again.

          Yes; Thou wilt visit me;
Nor plant nor tree Thine eye delights so well
          As when, from sin set free,
Man's spirit comes with Thine in peace to dwell.

Poem: Hymn of nature

This is an accounting of nature, from the bottom of the seas to the stars above, whose motions grow the heart more holy.  By William B O Peabody.



Hymn of nature


God of the earth's extended plains!
    The dark, green fields contented lie:
The mountains rise like holy towers,
    Where man might commune with the sky;
The tall cliff challenges the storm
    That lowers upon the vale below,
Where shaded fountains send their streams,
    With joyous music in their flow.

God of the dark and heavy deep!
    The waves lie sleeping on the sands,
Till the fierce trumpet of the storm
    Hath summon'd up their thund'ring bands;
Then the white sails are dash'd like foam,
    Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas,
Till, calm'd by thee, the sinking gale
    Serenely breathes, Depart in peace!

God of the forest's solemn shade!
    The grandeur of the lonely tree,
That wrestles singly with the gale,
    Lifts up admiring eyes to Thee;
But more majestic far they stand,
    When, side by side, their ranks they form.
To wave on high their plumes of green,
    And fight their battles with the storm.

God of the light and viewless air!
    Where summer breezes sweetly flow,
 Or, gathering in their angry might,
    The fierce and wintry tempests blow:
All-- from the evening's plaintive sigh,
    That hardly lifts the drooping flower.
To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry,
    Breathe forth the language of Thy power.

God of the fair and open sky!
    How gloriously above us springs
The tented dome, of heavenly blue,
    Suspended on the rainbow's rings!
Each brilliant star, that sparkles through,
    Each gilded cloud, that wanders free
In evening's purple radiance, gives
    The beauty of its praise to Thee.

God of the rolling orbs above!
    Thy name is written clearly bright
In the warm day's unvarying blaze,
    Or evening's golden shower of light:
For every fire that fronts the sun,
    And every spark that walks alone
Around the utmost verge of heaven,
    Were kindled at Thy burning throne.

God of the world! the hour must come.
    And nature's self to dust return;
Her crumbling altars must decay;
    Her incense fires shall cease to burn;
But still her grand and lovely scenes
    Have made man's fervent praises flow;
For hearts grow holier as they trace
    Thy glories in the world below.

Poem: Autumn flowers

American Transcendentalist poet Jones Very aptly memorializes life's beauty for as long as our personal pilgrimage tends.



Autumn flowers


Still blooming on, when Summer-flowers all fade,
     The golden rods and asters fill the glade;
The tokens they of an Exhaustless Love,
     That ever to the end doth constant prove.

To one fair tribe another still succeeds,
     As still the heart new forms of beauty needs;
Till these, bright children of the waning year!
     Its latest born have come our souls to cheer.

They glance upon us from their fringed eyes,
     And to their look our own in love replies;
Within our hearts we find for them a place,
     As for the flowers, which early Spring-time grace.

Despond not traveller! on life's lengthened way,
      When all thy early friends have passed away;
Say not, "No more the beautiful doth live,
     And to the earth a bloom and fragrance give."

To every season has our Father given
     Some tokens of his love to us from heaven;
Nor leaves us here, uncheered, to walk alone,
     When all we loved and prized, in youth, has gone.

Let but thy heart go forth to all around,
      Still by thy side the beautiful is found;
Along thy path the Autumn flowers shall smile,
     And to its close life's pilgrimage beguile.

Poem: Sailor's hymn

Life's path may get stormy, but there's always hope in heaven.  Written by George W Bethune.



Sailor's hymn


Toss'd upon life's raging billow,
Sweet it is, O Lord, to know
Thou hast press'd a sailor's pillow,
And canst feel a sailor's woe;
Never slumbering, never sleeping,
Though the night be dark and drear,
Thou the faithful watch art keeping--
"All, all's well!" Thy constant cheer.

And though loud the wind is howling,
Fierce though flash the lightnings red,
Darkly though the storm-cloud's scowling
O'er the sailor's anxious head,
Thou canst calm the raging ocean,
All its noise and tumult still,
Hush the billow's wild commotion,
At the bidding of Thy will.

Thus my heart the hope will cherish,
While to heaven I lift up mine eye,
Thou wilt save me ere I perish,
Thou wilt hear me when I cry;
And, though mast and sail be riven,
Life's short voyage will soon be o'er;
Safely moor'd in heaven's wide haven,
Storms and tempests vex no more.

Poem: Seeking God

God can always be found with all of His faithful.  Poem by E. Dowden.



Seeking God


I said, "I will find God," and forth I went
To seek Him in the clearness of the sky,
But over me stood unendurably
Only a pitiless, sapphire firmament
Ringing the world,-- blank splendour; yet intent
Still to find God, "I will go seek," said I,
"His way upon the waters," and drew nigh
An ocean marge weed-strewn, and foam-besprent;
And the waves dashed on idle sand and stone,
And very vacant was the long, blue sea;
But in the evening as I sat alone,
My window open to the vanishing day,
Dear God! I could not choose but kneel and pray,
And it sufficed that I was found of Thee.

Poem: Thou art, O God

This is a beautifully-written poem honoring God and his creation, by Thomas Moore.



Thou art, O God


Thou art, O God, the life and light
Of all this wondrous world we see;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,
Are but reflections caught from Thee.
Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine!

When Day, with farewell beam delays
Among the op'ning clouds of Even,
And we can almost think we gaze
Through golden vistas into Heaven--
Those hues that make the Sun's decline
So soft, so radiant, Lord! are Thine.

When Night, with wings of starry gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume
Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes--
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, Lord! are Thine.

When youthful Spring around us breathes,
Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh;
And every flower the Summer wreathes
Is borne beneath that kindling eye.
Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine,
And all things bright and fair are Thine!

Poem: Heaven Haven (A nun takes the veil)

A haven for the calling of a nun's life is described; it is written by Gerard Manly Hopkins.



          I have desired to go
          Where springs not fail,
To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail,
          And a few lilies blow.

          And I have asked to be
               Where no storms come,
Where the green swell is in the havens dumb,
          And out of the swing of the sea.

Poem: In spring the green leaves shoot

All forms of life must find rest, even our spirits.  Written by Dora Greenwell.



     In spring the green leaves shoot,
     In spring the blossoms fall,
     With summer falls the fruit,
     The leaves in autumn fall,
     Contented from the bough
     They drop, leaves, blossoms now,
And ripen'd fruit; the warm earth takes them all.

     Thus all things ask for rest,
     A home above, a home beneath the sod:
     The sun will seek the west,
     The bird will seek its nest,
     The heart another breast
Whereon to lean, the spirit seeks its God.

Poem: When up to nightly skies we gaze

John Sterling, author of this poem, relates that those close to the Lord are also close to nature.



When up to nightly skies we gaze,
Where stars pursue their endless ways,
We think we see from earth's low clod
The wide and shining home of God.

But could we rise to moon or sun,
Or path where planets duly run,
Still heaven should spread above us far,
And earth remote would seem a star.

This earth with all its dust and tears
Is His no less than yonder spheres;
And raindrops weak, and grains of sand,
Are stamped by His immediate hand.

The rock, the wave, the little flower,--
All fed by streams of living power
That spring from one almighty will,--
Whate'er His thought conceives fulfil.

We view those halls of painted air,
And own Thy presence makes them fair;
But nearer still to Thee, O Lord,
Is he whose thoughts with thine accord.

Poem: Desert

A timeless devotion to God for His creation, the desert, by Henry Vaughan.



I have deserved a thick Egyptian damp,
       Dark as my deeds,
Should mist within me, and put out that lamp
       Thy spirit feeds;
A darting conscience full of stabs and fears,
       No shade but yew,
Sullen and sad eclipses, cloudy spheres,
       These are my due.
But He that with His blood, a price too dear,
       My scores did pay,
Bid me, by virtue from Him, challenge here
       The brightest day;
Sweet, downy thoughts, soft lily-shades, calm streams,
       Joys full and true,
Fresh spicy mornings and eternal beams,
       These are His due.

Praise: The storm may roar without me

     This praise to God for the comfort of faith is by Anne L. Waring.

The storm may roar without me,
My heart may low be laid;
But God is round about me,
And can I be dismayed?

Poem: Pied Beauty

     What a glorious depiction of nature in its endless variety is this poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, 19th century Wales.




Pied Beauty


Glory be to God for dappled things --
     For skies of couple-colour as a brindled cow,
          For rose-moles all in supple upon trout that swim,
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finche's wings;
     Landscape plotted and pieced -- fold, fallow, and plough;
          And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
     Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
          With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
                         Praise him.

Prayer: A herald to God

     This powerful prayer is a liturgy of St. James; it is now only found in the Syrian Church.

Almighty God, whose glory the heavens are telling, the earth his power, and the sea his might, and whose greatness all feeling and thinking creatures everywhere herald; to you belongs glory, honour, might, greatness and magnificence now and for ever, to the ages of ages, through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.