Lewis McKenzie Turner

“ The simplest acts of things are miracles—
The whole a revelation,
To guide thy way and being.
Kill not, dissect not, nor rend or tear,
But see and feel and hear.
The earth, the air and sea abound
With righteous living creatures,
Intent upon some full purpose;—
Aside from man’s estate,
Aside from his designing selfishness, intensely useless graspings, destruction, purposeless desire,
For his good use and keeping,
The forest, field and sea
And all that lies beneath.
But if to be a “Bard Sublime?”—
A prater,
Aspiring to soar ’midst lofty peaks on painted scenes; to catch with musty mystery ”

“ Insistingly, Persistently beat loud upon the temple door—steeled well to hear the mock and din and laughter and deriding, doubting shouts of those within,
That you may full awake the throng without—
Those who sleep, work, hope and pray. ”

“ From Winter’s silence, breathing, sighing, sleeping, creeping on to Spring with sap, with shoot, with bud and flower, hour on hour playing, plying gentleness and power for Summer’s rest to temper strength for birth in Autumn, with crowning brilliancy and rich rewards untaxed to bird, to beast, to insect and to man, gift on gift for full contentment, sustenance and labor. ”