My Father's world

This is my Father's world,
and to my listening ears
all nature sings, and round me rings
the music of the spheres.
This is my Father's world,
I rest me in the thought
of rocks and trees, of skies and seas,
His hands the wonders wrought.
Maltbie D. Babcock

I guess I'm on a bit of a hymn kick the past few weeks. Not a bad thing. The weather has been just lovely the past couple of days here-- it's warming up and thawing everything, bits of blue sky peeking out of the clouds, the snow melting. It's the kind of weather that makes me want to spend every moment of daylight out exploring the woods or walking or just sitting in the sun.

Yesterday after church I went up the hill behind my cabin (and the house where I grew up) to run around and get a bit of exercise. I do this pretty often when the weather is like this, and every time this hymn by Babcock comes to mind. Having grown up in the woods, the sights and sounds and smells of wet moss and singing birds and dark pines reaching out of the fog are home to me like few other things in this world. I have lived in cities, and sometimes even loved living in cities, but nothing quite sings the grandeur and majesty of God like His untouched creation-- it's good to be home.