Last night I looked across the hills And through an arch of darkling
Low-swung against a limpid west I saw a young moon shine.
And as I gazed there blew a wind, Loosed where the sylvan shadows stir,
Bringing delight to soul and sense The breath of dying fir.
This morn I saw a dancing host Of poppies in a garden way,
And straight my heart was mirth-possessed And I was glad as they.
I heard a song across the sea As sweet and faint as echoes are,
And glimpsed a poignant happiness No care of earth might mar.
Dear God, our life is beautiful In every splendid gift it brings,
But most I thank Thee humbly for The joy of little things.
