He sits and watches over,
All the essences below,
On the spinning world's stage,
By minutes and age to age.
He made the nature patterns,
His prose hangs in the sky,
Written by the winter birds,
And by the trees standing by.
From corner to corner,
He's a clever clever God,
His hand covers diamond stars,
Yet is even in the sod.
Daily the earth he drowns
With purest beauty known,
Streams spill laughter in delight,
Sunsets paint a new sky every night,
He could have made it all less so,
No mountain white-capped earth below,
No flowers cheerful in the sun,
No wild horses driven to run
No autumn treasures, no trees to measure.
But the clever God is mysterious,
He loves the beauty just like us.
