GH the winds but stir on their hoary
Of hemlock and pungent pine,
All the whispering woodland
Gossip of things divine, —Why God is gray in the granite rock,
And green in the lichen flake,
And swift in the darting swallow-flock,
And slow in the lapping lake;
Why God is sweet in the hermit-thrush,
And hoarse in the frog; and
His touch on the bee is golden plush,
And gauze on the stinging fly;
Why God is life in the mushroom there,
And death in the toadstool here;
Mirth in the dancing maidenhair;
In its hidden adder, fear.
Oh, if this berry that stains my
Could teach me the woodland chat,
Science would bow to my scholarship,
And Theology doff the hat.
