These Things

When tending solely to ourselves,
We fail to note the gifts of life.
We place these things on hidden shelves
And only see our days of strife.

But if we take the time to see
The gifts in things that we forsake,
The cares of life will surely flee;
Our faith will then remain awake.

Now note the trees along a lake,
A single cloud that paints the skies.
Then see how evening stirs awake—
An early dawn when darkness flies.

Enjoy the scent of early spring—
The longer days that summer shares,
The brilliant colors fall can bring,
And all the gowns that winter wears;

The rising moon that brings us smiles,
The stars applauding twilight plays,
The sounds of evening heard for miles,
The songs of birds at dawning rays;

The sand that plays with flirting seas,
The spray of crashing waves on rocks,
The soothing touch of ocean breeze,
The joy derived from morning walks;

A brightly colored butterfly,
A hummingbird in flawless flight,
A dragonfly that hovers high,
A purple finch of pure delight,

A hermit thrush of lilting songs,
The precious air that lifts its wings,
The rain that falls where it belongs—
The wondrous home that holds these things.