When nature seems so perfect and complete,
Grand as a whole, and perfect all its parts,
Which from the greatest to the least proclaims
That Wisdom, Watchfulness, and Power and Love
Which built the mountains, spread the earth abroad,
And fixed the bounds that ocean cannot pass;
Which taught the seasons their accustomed rounds,
Lest seed-time and the happy harvests fail;
Which guides the stars in their celestial course,
And guides the pigeon's swift unerring flight
O'er mountain, sea and plain and desert waste,
Straight as an arrow to her distant home;
Teaching the ant for winter to prepare;
Clothing the lily in its princely pride;
Watching the tiny sparrow when it falls;
Nothing too great for His almighty arm;
Nothing too small for His all-seeing eye;
Nothing too mean for His paternal care.

And thus he mused, seeking to find a light
To guide men on their dark and weary way,
And through the valley and the shades of death,
Until the glories of the setting sun
Called him to vespers and his evening meal.

Then roused from revery, ablutions made,
Eight times he bowed, just as the setting sun,
A fiery red, sunk slowly out of sight
Beyond the western plains, gilded and tinged,
Misty and vast, beneath a brilliant sky,