One May Morning

A Poem

The bright of morning stirs the waking air,
Fills full the host of new green, fresh and fair,
Drips down its blessing to the fleabane there.
It sings and stirs and whispers in my hair
And in the spring-deep forest everywhere
It lifts its sun-bright anthem: living prayer.

The flight-blessed myriad of feathered song
Weave their sound like tapestries to throng
The pillared halls of forest temple long
And high; upheld by branches arching strong

Into the sounding sky. The spring wind's flight
Spins choired spiderwebs of sun-danced light
Across the sifted shadows left of night:
And here I breathe, blessed with the prayer of sight
To walk this world beneath the ageless height.

The beauty here is bounty unreserved,
Abundant light bestowed, yet undeserved--

It's goodness overwhelming: soul stands awed.
What can I do but lift my trembling laud
Up to the grace and goodness of our God?