Classic Poem

Doubt and I, one summer day,
Through green wood and meadow gay
Chanced in random mood to stray.

God was in the brooding air,
Round about us everywhere,
Thrilling, shaping all things fair.

But the will and way divine
Were too subtile, deep and fine
For those careless eyes of mine.

Far about us then, as still,
Woven threads of matchless will,
Twirled the stars with awful skill.

But I stood owl-eyed at gaze,
Blinded by the noontide blaze,
Witless of the stellar maze.

Marvel not to hear that I
Learned of matters deep and high
From a gorgeous butterfly.

" Sure, " I said, " some master mind
Such a dainty shape designed —
All these hues arranged, combined. "

Doubt was silent. " Yes, " I said,
" 'Twas an artist's hand that led
These fine lines, these colors spread.

" He was one that dipped his brush
In the dawntime's virgin blush,
In the gray of twilight's hush.

" Here are tints that die or swoon,
Gold of sun and gold of moon,
White of winter, green of June.

" This symmetric, dainty thing,
This divine imagining,
Chance ne'er fashioned. " — Doubt took wing.

So it ofttimes haps, I wis,
They whose eyes the great sea miss
Hear the shoreward breakers hiss.

God has writ our rightful creed
Both for wise and simple need; —
Even they who run may read.