A land that man has newly trod, A land that only God has known, Through all the soundless cycles flown. Yet perfect blossoms bless the sod, And perfect birds illume the trees And perfect unheard harmonies Pour out eternally to God. A thousand miles of mighty wood Where thunder-storms stride fireshod; A thousand flowers every rod, A stately tree on every rood; Ten thousand leaves on every tree, And each a miracle to me; And yet there be men who question God! |