Poems (Vadlan)/God
For works with similar titles, see God.
"GOD"
He touches the grass with his glances,It turns to green and brown;He smiles at the bed of roses,They weave a wonderful crown.
He whispers in the tree-tops,Whether in Spring or Fall:They nod with their loaded branchesAnd heed His tender call.
He brushes the stirring streamlets,That freeze, or run, or flow:He paints with a thousand beautiesThis dear, old earth below.
He fills the hearts of His servantsWith gifts more precious than gold;He carries them safe in His bosomUntil they enter His fold.