Joaquin Miller's Poems [in six volumes] |
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 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
PLEASANT TO THE SIGHT
“And God planted a garden eastward in Eden wherein He caused to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food.”
Behold the tree, the lordly tree,
That fronts the four winds of the storm
A fearless and defiant form
That mocks wild winter merrily!
Behold the beauteous, budding tree
With censors swinging in the air,
With arms in attitude of prayer,
With myriad leaves, and every leaf
A miracle of color, mold,
More gorgeous than a house of gold!
Each leaf a poem of God's plan,
Each leaf as from His book of old
To build, to bastion man's belief:
Man's love of God, man's love of man.
That fronts the four winds of the storm
A fearless and defiant form
That mocks wild winter merrily!
Behold the beauteous, budding tree
With censors swinging in the air,
With arms in attitude of prayer,
With myriad leaves, and every leaf
A miracle of color, mold,
More gorgeous than a house of gold!
Each leaf a poem of God's plan,
Each leaf as from His book of old
To build, to bastion man's belief:
Man's love of God, man's love of man.
Aye, love His trees, leaf, trunk, or root,
The comely, stately, upright grace
That greets God's rain with lifted face;
The great, white, beauteous, highborn rain
That rides as white sails ride the main,
That wraps alike leaf, trunk or shoot,
When sudden thunder lights his torch
And strides high Heaven's ample porch.
Aye, love God's tree, leaf, branch and root.
For God set first the pleasant tree;
The “good for food” came tardily.
The poor, blind hog knows but the fruit,
And wallows in his fat and dies,
A hog, up to his every eyes.
The comely, stately, upright grace
That greets God's rain with lifted face;
200
That rides as white sails ride the main,
That wraps alike leaf, trunk or shoot,
When sudden thunder lights his torch
And strides high Heaven's ample porch.
Aye, love God's tree, leaf, branch and root.
For God set first the pleasant tree;
The “good for food” came tardily.
The poor, blind hog knows but the fruit,
And wallows in his fat and dies,
A hog, up to his every eyes.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |