A Beauty on the Land
There lies a beauty on the land,
but it is hard to understand
what is the glory in the sky
and on the stranger passing by.
The small sun does not rise or set;
the pavement glistens onyx-wet;
the little lights shine here and there;
a winter damp is in the air.
Yet all the gray familiar places,
all the streets and all the faces,
wear a look of faraway.
It is an ordinary day,
yet everywhere I look I find
a beauty that I passed by blind
an hour ago. Sometimes I think
we spend our life on beauty's brink
and never open up our eyes
to see how warm, how close it lies.
And Beauty Too!
Flowers are so beautiful—I see
no reason why they have to be;
considered practically, would
not ugly flowers have been as good?
But something more than good enough
is elemental in the stuff
of things, joyous, upward twist
that draws a rainbow from a mist;
that gives a lizard feathered wings
and makes of it a bird that sings;
that chooses an unlikely beast,
not swift or strong—one of the least—
and calls forth it in man who may
climb clear to Christlikeness some day!