The Autograph of God

The thirsty earth, with lips apart,
Looked up where rolled an orb of flame
As though a prayer came from its heart
For rain to come; and lo! it came.
The Indian corn, with silken plume,
And flowers with tiny pitchers filled,
Send up their praise of sweet perfume,
For silver drops the clouds distilled.

The modest grass is fresh and green —
The fountain swells its song again;
An angel's radiant wing is seen
In every cloud that brings us rain.
There is a rainbow in the sky,
It spans the arch where tempests trod;
God wrote it ere the world was dry —
It is the AUTOGRAPH OF GOD.

Up where the heavy thunders rolled,
Where clouds on fire were swept along,
The sun rides in a car of gold,
And soaring larks dissolve in song.
The rills that gush from mountains rude,
Flow trickling to the verdant base —
Just like the tears of gratitude
That often steal adown the face.

Great King of peace, deign now to bless —
The windows of the sky unbar;
Shower down the rain of righteousness,
And wash away the stain of war;
Though we deserve the reeking rod,
Smile from thy throne of light on high —
That we may read the name of God,
In lines of beauty on the sky.