The Outdoor Church

The carven pillara of the trees, The flowered mosivic of the grass, The green, transparent traceries Of leaf on loaf that lightly lies And lightly moves when breezes pass, The anthem of the waterfall, My chorister the blaekbird's lay, And, mingling with, suffnsing all, Borne by tlie wind and still let fall, The incensé of the new mown hay- This is my elrarch, my altar there. Here earth, the kindly mother, kneels, Eer mighty hands outspread in prayer, While o'er her brow the snnny air, A south wind full of blessing, steals. She wraps me in her mantle fold. I kneel and pray beside her there As children do whom mothers hold, And living air and sunlight gold And wood and nieadow pray with me.