This poem drifted into my head after a contemplative walk through my neighbor's wood and field, which is a lovely spot: some big thick hedges, ponds, old oak trees, and rolling little fields, all veined through with little farm lanes. After I have read Scriptures at home, I tend to- when I can, which is occasional- go and take a short walk, in which I try to maintain a contemplative, prayerful attititude, in which "Christ is all" upon my being, and in which I may praise and thank my Father as I often fail to do when the affairs of the rest of the world press about.

Hymn on the Rain



Quake!-quick strewed against strathing sky-

     Yare- yorn willowleafen wrought white washed upon rain

Dregging clouds: graying, streeling, gab-thrown high

      World-sized, world-shorn reeling raring over down and slane

While mapleleaves green grasp, scatter soft-edged

       Catch the gray strathy skyed frown-

       Deep frown, soft frowned, broken now to rain.



Yare bent willow: O praise Him!

Quooken leaftipped arms throw forward praise-

Lifted, linned over, speak!

Green-grafted maple: O praise Him!

Voice resounds- resounds, resounds: soul

Slakes soul praises- praises Him!

Toss, still and settle- but praise, praise yet!   

       Glory given ever, on heaven and on earth:

       Soul’s song, quickbeam’s song- life gorn, breath touched all

       Redemption wrought bringing: 

       O Praise Him!