Creation Poem by Mary Weston Fordham

O Earth, adore creative power,
That made and gave to man as dower,
This world of beauty rare,
With hills and vales of verdant green,
With rills and brooks of crystal sheen,
Lovely beyond compare.

O Sun, bright ruler of the day,
When first thy power thou did'st display,
Earth must have shrunk in fear,
When like a meteor burst thy light,
Turning to day the long, long night,
With radiance wondrous fair.

Thou Moon, pale sister of the Sun,
When he his daily work has done,
Thou comest forth a queen;
A queen in silvery robe adorned,
With tiara of jewels formed,
Of starry orbs unseen.

Ye twinkling stars of milder light,
Though now ye gleam like sapphires bright,
Across you azure dome,
The day will dawn, that last dread day,
When from you heaven you'll fall away,
And man to Judgment come.

Thunder and Lightnings burst and gleam,
Frightful and fierce to us they seem
Rending the darkened sky.
Like giants tread the thunder's peal,
The vivid lightnings swiftly steal,
And men in terror fly.

O filmy clouds, of purest white,
With robes of gossamer cased in white,
Ye floating waters pure,
Sometimes to burst in cooling showers,
Sometimes to deluge wintry hours
With your relentless pour.

Thou beauteous Rainbow bursting forth,
With varied hues encircling earth;
The sign to Noah made.
'I place amid the Clouds my Bow'
To show that I will nevermore
Deluge with angry flood.

Mountains and Hills whose snow capped tops
The vast horizon overlooks,

Pyramids strong and sure;
Nor lightnings fierce nor earthquake shock
Can ever sway, for firm as rock
Ye ever will endure.

Thou Ocean vast, oftimes thy breast,
Is calm and still as if at rest,
Like one in quiet sleep;
But soon in anger thou may'st roar,
And madly toss from shore to shore,
And human harvest reap.

Fountains and Rivulets so clear,
That gush amid the valleys fair,
With soft and mellow ring;
As coming forth from glade and wood
Your babblings whisper 'God is good,'
Ye make the vales to sing.

Now when all nature swells the song,
When beast and birds the strain prolong,
Shall man from praise refrain?
Then would the rocks and hills proclaim,
All nature crying out for shame,
They who their Maker's image wear,
Should shout and sing till rent the air
With rhapsodies sublime.