Epiphany

There is nothing that eases my heart so much As the wind that blows from the great green hills; ’Tis a hand of balsam whose healing touch Unburdens my bosom of ills.

There is nothing that maketh my soul to rejoice Like the sunset flaming without a flaw: ’Tis a burning bush whence God’s own voice Addresses my spirit with awe.

There is nothing that hallows my mind, meseems, Like the night with its moon and its starry slope: ’Tis a mystical lily whose golden gleams Fulfill my being with hope.

There is nothing, no, nothing, we see and feel, That speaks to our souls some beautiful thought, That was not created to help us and heal Our lives that are overwrought.