Cathedrals

My cathedral is a forest
As easily
As any ediface hewn of stone
My hymn
The song of the meadow lark
Whose notes on the wind are thrown
My prayer
Speaks the burbling brook
Coursing joyous o'er moss dark stones

My cathedral is a forest

There is peace beneath the trees
Where men are few and far between
And gentle breeze
Which touch both bud and bloom
Bears like incense fragrant life
To those whose senses are in tune

Deep in the wood where grass is sparse
And moss and lichen carpet
Here flow the darkling streams
And lie quiet pools which shadows darken

Time is different here
Not measured by the second hand
The telling comes by sun and moon
And not the count of man

Truly
God moves with majesty
The breeze
Wending through leafy boughs of trees
Trees whose lofty spires
Seem to heavenward reach
And caress the blue of sky
That earth and heaven should meet