Simplicity Unspoilt

Blessed are the pure in heart,
    for they shall see God.
They shall see him in all things unspoilt;
    in child and flower and love unblighted,
    in mountain's stream and ocean's pearl.
And they shall call him beauty and truth.

>From unperceptive eye,
From blindness of soul,
From hardness of heart,
    Deliver us, good Lord.

Fill our veins with richer blood,
Fill our nerves with responsive energy,
Fill us with the vividness of life.

When winter storm has ceased its raging
    and dawn breaks cold and clear,
snow has piled in curling drift, or lies
    unbroken in level range.
Wind will not churn its surface,
    but only winnow it gently,
    or carve a fluted crest.
Sun will not bake it brown,
    but only tip each crystal
    with refracted light.
It is man who mars even while he stands
    to worship the white wonder.

When mountain beck has poured its 
laughter
    into a rock-rimmed cup,
    and its bubbling dance into a dappled 
pool,
the surface of the stream is silken 
motion,
    the depth a gathering of clarity.
Nothing from the hills will fracture the 
stillness
    nor cloud the mirror.
It is man or boy who hurls a rock
    to carve his signature with a splash
    and to listen to the double sound
    of shattered surface and 
reverberating depth.

When rain has washed the tender leaves
 of 
garden
    and early evening towels away the 
rising 
mist
    and slowly dries the torso of the 
ground,
a single drop of rain is held
    cupped in the green palm of lupin 
leaves,
    like a tear lingering on its lashes.
Plant will not roll the drop away,
    nor air disturb the balance.
It is man who swishes with impatience
    and breaks the mating of cloud and 
chlorophyll.

He misses the jewel in the lotus.