Servant of Nature

She gave me hands that I may write
sweet poems in her praise
and eyes to see her glorious light
spreading its golden rays;
a feeling heart to fill with joys
as I behold each spring
and that bird like urge to make noise;
open my mouth and sing.
I hear her voice call out to me
and I must; I must echo it.
I have no choice, when she moves me,
but to be Nature’s poet.