by James Picot
Worship the Lord, the God of wild cold kind,
Water and wind,
And a change, and cries and silences.
The woods shake off a wild spray of old rain,
The stormy flowers are my very heart;
I worship thee again
Glory of strong trees, wet buds, and the sky!
I have laid a windy perfume on the stone;
Wood resin, and the blossom flame are nigh;
I have brought sweet wood, I come to dawn alone;
My prayer, keep grand the tempest in my heart!
The east is blenching now, and flames the stone;
My prayer, keep dew and anthem in my heart!
James Picot (The Catholic Advocate, 13 August, 1936, p13)