Across the narrow beach we flit, One little sand-piper and I; And fast I gather, bit by bit. The scattered driftwood, bleached and dry. - Celia Thaxter

The summer day was spoiled with fitful storm; At night the wind died and the soft rain dropped; With lulling murmur, and the air was warm, And all the tumult and the trouble stopped.

The heart of God through his creation stirs, We thrill to feel it, trembling as the flowers That die to live again, — his messengers, To keep faith firm in these sad souls of ours. The waves of Time may devastate our lives, The frosts of age may check our failing breath, They shall not touch the spirit that survives Triumphant over doubt and pain and death.

To the heart of Nature one must needs be drawn in such a life-and very soon I learned how richly she repays in deep refreshment the reverent love of her worshipper. Infinite varieties of beauty always awaited m, and filled me with such an absorbing, unreasoning joy such as makes the song-sparrow sing- a sense of perfect bliss. Like countless rosy trumpets tossed everywhere about the rocks, turned up to the sky, drooping toward the ground, or looking east, west, north, south in silent loveliness. It seemed as if they had gathered the peace of the golden morning in their still depths even as my heart has also.

Collected in: Sisters of the Earth: Women's Prose and Poetry About Nature by Lorraine Anderson