Frederick George Scott (1861–1944)

THIS is God’s house—the blue sky is the ceiling,

This wood the soft green carpet for His feet,

Those hills His stairs, down which the brooks come stealing

With baby laughter, making earth more sweet.

And here His friends come, clouds, and soft winds sighing,

And little birds whose throats pour forth their love,

And spring and summer, and the white snow lying

Pencilled with shadows of bare boughs above.

And here come sunbeams through the green leaves straying,

And shadows from the storm-clouds over-drawn,

And warm, hushed nights, when Mother Earth is praying

So late that her moon-candle burns till dawn.

Sweet house of God, sweet earth, so full of pleasure,

I enter at thy gates in storm or calm;

And every sunbeam is a joy or pleasure,

And every cloud a solace and a balm.