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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
408
EPIPHANY
There is nothing that eases my heart so much
As the wind that blows from the great green hills;
'T is a hand of balsam whose healing touch
Unburdens my bosom of ills.
As the wind that blows from the great green hills;
'T is a hand of balsam whose healing touch
Unburdens my bosom of ills.
There is nothing that maketh my soul to rejoice
Like the sunset flaming without a flaw:
'T is a burning bush whence God's own voice
Addresses my spirit with awe.
Like the sunset flaming without a flaw:
'T is a burning bush whence God's own voice
Addresses my spirit with awe.
There is nothing that hallows my mind, meseems,
Like the night with its moon and its starry slope:
'T is a mystical lily whose golden gleams
Fulfill my being with hope.
Like the night with its moon and its starry slope:
'T is a mystical lily whose golden gleams
Fulfill my being with hope.
There is nothing, no, nothing, we see and feel,
That speaks to our souls some beautiful thought,
That was not created to help us and heal
Our lives that are overwrought.
That speaks to our souls some beautiful thought,
That was not created to help us and heal
Our lives that are overwrought.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |