What is it for which men search ‘neath every rock and tree?
This thing, this essence, telling us there’s more than what we see?
We see it, know it, let it go, and yet we can’t define
And so we start to tell ourselves it lives just in the mind.
But even though, around the world, the definite resists,
Still this longing, burning question, refuses to desist.
It is not apprehension of, or managing of fright,
For even those “uncivilized” can sense it, it is right.
Nor is it just merely “pretty,” a drink just for our eyes,
For when it lives internally, it wears a different guise.
When God said in the beginning “I see it, it is good.”
The echoes of His proclamation showed us, if we would.
And when the Lord Himself proclaims “The rocks themselves will cry,”
We should perhaps take just a moment to ask within us, “Why?”
When Augustine asked of the world “Are you the God I know?”
They answered him with pointing limbs “Seek not here below.”
As Edwards tells us, contra-world, beauty’s not a whim.
But rather God says “Yes” to us, and we say “Yes” to Him.
This consent pervades the world, a lovely wafting smell
As Guroian’s roses of the garden eloquently tell.
And pilgrims out at Tinker Creek, through frogs and diving birds,
Proclaim to all who listen for it the sweetness of His words.
But in return for all this beauty in the world we find
We cannot sit, but actively assault the daily grind.
As Norris tells us, little things are oft of great importance,
Just as the smallest shifting step can make, or break, the dance.
And so we strive, with every breath, to beautify the day,
In everything we think or do, and to our Lord we pray:
“Help us never to forget what is our solemn duty
To give thee praise, oh Lord our God, whenever we see beauty.”
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