That we have not done justice with our words
To hills and sod and stones and wood and seas
And You, forgive us, while unprompted birds
Dislaurel us with sudden melodies.
The tree deserves what she does not expect:
Adequate thankfulness for summer shade.
Our fulsome compliments cannot reflect
The fullness that Your pregnant fiat made.
Our efforts fail You that our love affords.
Good’s gravity outweighs our mouths’ excess.
One Word outnumbers all our uttered words,
Who spoke a chaos into loveliness.