The Wonder of Created Things

         The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
            It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
            It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
         Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
         Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
            And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
            And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
         Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

         And for all this, nature is never spent;
            There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
         And though the last lights off the black West went
            Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs -
         Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
            World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
                                                             - Gerard Manley Hopkins