I WANDER in the dawn to where the pine wood lies; the morning air is cool and fragrant with the scent of trees.

I hear the songs of singing birds; and my path that winds through golden gorse and russet heath is gay with little flowers and grass.

I hear the faint hum of flies; and the clear cool sound of limpid waters bubbling over moss delights my ear.

All things fill my soul with praise this morning as I walk abroad, alone ; and in the tree-gloomed places of the wood, among old beech leaves and withered ferns, I rest.

I do not ask for dim cathedral place, where windows stained with many colours soil the fresh pure light of opening morn ;

I do not ask for sound of solemn organ, many-voiced and deep, or formal chant of cassocked priest, or written words of other men to mumble ;

Here I am content; this wood will serve me well; and here I will sing in praise of God Who fashioned everything, and saw that it was good.

O Lord ! wilt thou accept my song?