Ii

Myriad forms Pure and new as a thought of God, Rose from the sod, Sprang into life with me, A bending sea Of distant, infinite blue, From East to West, from South to North, Bent over us. We, called forth Up from the heart of the earth, Shook in the east wind’s mirth, Thrilled to the south wind’s kiss. Rain and dew, Storm and sun, Blessed us, made us this, And we grew.