The forests rich with their autumnal gold;
The creatures beautiful, that spread their wings
In the warm sunshine; blossoms that unfold
Bright as man’s hopes and vain imaginings.
The glories of the universe are spread
Before me, and I see them with delight:
Yet am I blind of heart, and cold, and dead
To spiritual things. God grant me light
To understand, and warmth to feel, and grace
Thy message to receive—Thy wondrous power to trace.