Alive in this world of beautiful forms,

No form is alien to men, or apart,

Each morning sunbeam our being warms,

Each tree is a kinsman of friendly heart.

We love the clear bird songs that fill our ear

With melody ringing for us alone.

The cricket’s chirp is for us, and we hear

A human voice in the rivulet’s tone.

Each lovely thing of nature finds room

In our heart of hearts—our lover and mate,

The star and the dew and the vine’s sweet bloom

Are fitted to us, and our spirit innate.

They are kinsmen—each century blazing star!

Each snowclad summit, each rose-flushed peak

Have most subtle oneness with us, for afar

Of things sublime and eternal they speak.

With all beautiful things that live, we are one.

We are kin to the circle of nature’s whole.

So, O beautiful trees that stand in the sun,

Your beauty entrancing slips into the soul.

For the children of one great Kinsman above

Are the myriad forms of nature and we.

Kinsman, Creator, He fits our love

To the star and the flower, the bird and the tree.

—Mrs. Merrill E. Gates.