William Cullen Bryant

“ Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground,
The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with Thee.
Here is continual worship. Nature, here,
In the tranquillity that Thou dost love,
Enjoys Thy presence. Noiselessly around,
From perch to perch, the solitary bird
Passes; and yon clear spring, that ’midst its herbs,
Wells softly forth and, wondering, steeps the roots
Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale
Of all the good it does. ”