Sitting in the woodland dim,
Waves of God go over him,
And the bird that sings apart
Seems to voice deep Heaven's heart.
All things intimately seen—
Creeds nor theories between,
All things credible—how sweet
Not to even know deceit!
Ah! if we would only know,
Back to childhood we must go,
Lose the learning of the book,
Take a long, glad, loving look!
