Classic Poem

I HAVE no seasons and no times
To think of heaven; sometimes at night
I go up on a stair of rhymes,
And find the journey very bright:
And for some accidental good,
Wrought by me, saints have near me stood.

I do not think my heart is hard
Beyond the common heart of men,
And yet sometimes the best award
Smites on it like a stone; and then
A sunbeam, that may brightly stray
In at my window, makes me pray.

The flower I've chanced on, in some nook
Giving its wild heart to the bee,
Has taught me meekness, like a book
Of written preaching; and to see
A corn field ripe, an orchard red,
Has made me bow with shame my head.

Of stated rite and formula,
A formal use the meaning wears;
When mostly in God's works I see
And feel his love, I make my prayers,
And by the peace that comes, I know
My worship is accepted so.