Classic Poem

Cleanse Thou, O God, the roadways of my mind,
Each night, when traffic ceases, I do pray;
That when I waken the clean morn may find
No debris from my sins of yesterday.
Send me one thought of Thine when first mine eyes
Open with flowers unto the sweet sunrise;
And this one thought will draw, throughout the day,
Innumerable thoughts its way —
All children pure, drawn hither by this light:
Drawn hither as that star,
Which Thou dost place against the dusking blue,
Draws from afar
A countless host of its own silver hue,
Arrayed in borrowed garments, pure and white.
Let me on this thought look, when I awake,
As the poor, sick eyes first take
A look at roses, leaning o'er the bed —
Roses, still wet with dew,
Or tears, that almost seem to speak
And plead with their lost sisters to mount through
The snows that lie upon the withered cheek.
By this first flower will all my hours be led:
I would not have Thee pave the path I tread,
Or lift the stones where gentler feet have bled.
Cleanse Thou, O God, is all I ask, and set
My first look on the modest violet.

Should some foul bird
Slay the first robin, and usurp its place,
I doubt so soon would we behold spring's face.
The flower had never stirred
From its moist bed,
Had never lifted to the sun its uncrowned head,
If that brave bird had failed to usher forth
And sing of southern woodlands to the north.
Then speak, O God, to me,
When first I wake at morn; and give I pray
A single thought of Thee
To shepherd all my fancies of the day.

And when the evening shadows softly creep
Over the earth, this shepherd, ere I sleep,
Will bring to Thee, for sacrifice, my sheep.