The Honeyed Lanes Of Paradise

I look upon the grasses of the fields,

The modest violets blooming through the blades'

Exuberance that to my footsteps yields,

The play of light, the laugh of greening shades,

And song surrounds my wandering this day.

He lifts the rosy curtains of the dawn

And sunlight burns the shades of night away,

His joy is felt upon the scented morn.

Tenacious is our hope to live and know,

As roots upon the precipice in stone

Will grasp minutest crevices to grow,

Yet man among his kind is most alone

For he has lost his spirit's native home.

O Mother the world is in such disarray,

Will the dire cataclysm come,

Can we yet live to see the golden day

When trees shall bend their incense-laden boughs

And man shall view through God's all-seeing eyes

The million-motived dreams His grace allows

And tread the honeyed lanes of Paradise?