THE OUTDOOR CHURCH.
THE carven pillars of the trees, The flowered mosaic of the grass, The green transparent traceries Of leaf on leaf that lightly lies And lightly move when breezes pass, The anthem of the waterfall, My chorister the blackbird's lay, And mingling with, suffusing all, Borne by the wind and still let fall,
The incense of the new-mown hay:—
'This is my church, my altar there ; Here Earth the kindly mother kneels, Her mighty hands outspread in prayer, While o'er her brow the sunny air, A south windfall of blessing, steals.
She wraps me in her mantle-fold,
I kneel and pray beside her there As children do whom mothers hold.
And living air, and sunlight-gold, And wood and meadow, pray with me.