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.