(Locheven)
I love to tread a winding path
Through the woods,
And, world weary, pause upon it.
The trees bend and enclose me
In brooding calm;
I feel the presence of Deity.
I hear the cadence of the stillness—
A stillness so alive.
The whisper of the leaves,
The song of the brook over golden stone
The whir of a bird’s wings;
And I know the presence of Deity.