The wild ferns grow, about this home of mine,
Beneath cathedral trees where peace is found.
The silent mountains are green-robed in pine;
And deer are startled by a man-made sound.
The huckleberries grow along the trails;
Gay flowers beautify in nature's bowl.
A master-painting in a gallery pales
Before the work of the Great Oversoul.
The glowing lamps I need are singing stars,
My symphony, a joyous lilting bird.
No blinding walls of greed or hatred's scars
Where silence speaks a sermon that is heard.
Where wild ferns grow upon the living sod,
I hold a daily rendezvous with God.
