To nature

It may indeed be phantasy, when I

Essay to draw from all created things

Deep, heartfelt, inward joy that closely clings ;

And trace in leaves and flowers that round me lie

Lessons of love and earnest piety.

So let it be ; and if the wide world rings

In mock of this belief, it brings

Nor fear, nor grief, nor vain perplexity.

So will I build my altar in the fields,

And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be,

And the sweet fragrance that the wild flower yields

Shall be the incense I will yield to Thee,

Thee only God ! and thou shalt not despise

Even me, the priest of this poor sacrifice.