I trust in Nature for the stable laws
Of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant
And Autumn read more

I trust in Nature for the stable laws
Of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant
And Autumn garner to the end of time.
I trust in God--the right shall be the right
And other than the wrong, while he endures;
I trust in my own soul, that can perceive
The outward and the inward, Nature's good
And God's.

raspberry drupelets cluster around a cavern of emptiness
(paraphrased from her talk on C Span's Book TV).

raspberry drupelets cluster around a cavern of emptiness
(paraphrased from her talk on C Span's Book TV).

All things are artificial, for nature is the art of God.

All things are artificial, for nature is the art of God.

Nature does nothing without purpose or uselessly.

Nature does nothing without purpose or uselessly.

The sun, the moon and the stars would have disappeared long ago, had they happened to be within reach of read more

The sun, the moon and the stars would have disappeared long ago, had they happened to be within reach of predatory human hands.

By reading the scriptures I am so renewed that all nature seems renewed around me and with me. The sky read more

By reading the scriptures I am so renewed that all nature seems renewed around me and with me. The sky seems to be a pure, a cooler blue, the trees a deeper green. The whole world is charged with the glory of God and I feel fire and music under my feet.

The imagination of nature is far, far greater than the imagination of man.

The imagination of nature is far, far greater than the imagination of man.

I walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of the summer. My bank of wild grass is majestic and full read more

I walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of the summer. My bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music. It is a fire that solitude presses against my lips.

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
read more

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove.