THE WORSHIP OF NATURE
by: John Greenleaf Whittier
(1807-1892)
- HE harp at Nature's advent strung
- Has never ceased to play;
- The song the stars of morning sung
- Has never died away.
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- And prayer is made, and praise is given,
- By all things near and far;
- The ocean looketh up to heaven,
- And mirrors every star.
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- Its waves are kneeling on the strand,
- As kneels the human knee,
- Their white locks bowing to the sand,
- The priesthood of the sea!
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- They pour their glittering treasures forth,
- Their gifts of pearl they bring,
- And all the listening hills of earth
- Take up the song they sing.
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- The green earth sends its incense up
- From many a mountain shrine;
- From folded leaf and dewy cup
- She pours her sacred wine.
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- The mists above the morning rills
- Rise white as wings of prayer;
- The altar-curtains of the hills
- Are sunset's purple air.
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- The winds with hymns of praise are loud,
- Or low with sobs of pain,--
- The thunder-organ of the cloud,
- The dropping tears of rain.
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- With drooping head and branches crossed
- The twilight forest grieves,
- Or speaks with tongues of Pentecost
- From all its sunlit leaves.
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- The blue sky is the temple's arch,
- Its transept earth and air,
- The music of its starry march
- The chorus of a prayer.
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- So Nature keeps the reverent frame
- With which her years began,
- And all her signs and voices shame
- The prayerless heart of man.
"The Worship of Nature"
is reprinted from The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf
Whittier. Ed. H.E.S. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1894. |
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