Healing the Land
He sang fine new trees,
fresh and beautiful,
Of dewy blossoms
and dark rich soil,
Golden with grain,
garnished with fruit-trees,
Full of bright flowers,
flourishing color,
Of gentle breeze
and young birds caroling,
Of holy meres
hidden under stone,
Of starlit nights
after sunny days,
The chirrup of birds,
and the chants of votaries,
The ripples of rivulets,
the rush of rapids,
The whistles and thrums
of the whirling winds,
The swelling echoes
of silver bells,
The crackling of ice
at the coming of spring,
The rumble and roil
of rocks underground,
The high-pitch’d hum
of the honey-bees hovering,
The secret silence
of softest snow,
Of smokeless blazes
in sacred places,
Flaming on,
no fuel demanding,
Of stylites feeling
in a state of grace,
Penitents certain
their pasts surpassed,
New songs come
of novice composers,
Scientists thrilled
by sudden discoveries,
Logicians and geometers
overjoyed by their theorems,
Fauns and elves
dancing with fairy maidens,
Children at play
with good cheer in their voices,
Pollution cleansed
and lands at peace.