See, yonder, the belfry tower

That gleams in the moon's pale light;

Or is it a ghostly flower

That dreams in the silent night?

I listen and hear the chime

Go quavering o'er the town,

And out of this flower of Time

Twelve petals are wafted down.

Oh Lord, I've never lived where churches grow.

I love creation better as it stood

That day You finished it so long ago

And looked upon Your work and called it good.

I know that others find You in the light

That's sifted down through tinted window panes,

And yet I seem to feel You near tonight

In this dim, quiet starlight on the plains.

How strange that grass should sing—

Grass is so still a thing . . .

And strange the swift surprise of snow

So soft it falls and slow.

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts...

Lo, the unbounded sea,

On its breast a ship starting,

spreading all sails, carrying even her moonsails.

The pennant is flying aloft as she speeds

she speeds so stately-

below emulous waves press forward,

They surround the ship with shining curving motions and foam.

Stars over snow,

And in the west a planet

Swinging below a star—

Look for a lovely thing and you will find it,

It is not far—

It will never be far.