Poem: “God of the Open Air” by Henry Van Dyke

Download PDF

American Literature – Children Books – American Poetry – Henry Van Dyke – Poems by Henry Van Dyke
< < < Flood-Tide of Flowers
The Toiling of Felix > > >

God of the Open Air

I

Thou who hast made thy dwelling fair With flowers below, above with starry lights And set thine altars everywhere,— On mountain heights, In woodlands dim with many a dream, In valleys bright with springs,And on the curving capes of every stream:Thou who hast taken to thyself the wings Of morning, to abideUpon the secret places of the sea, And on far islands, where the tideVisits the beauty of untrodden shores,Waiting for worshippers to come to thee In thy great out-of-doors!To thee I turn, to thee I make my prayer, God of the open air.

II

Seeking for thee, the heart of man Lonely and longing ran,In that first, solitary hour, When the mysterious powerTo know and love the wonder of the mornWas breathed within him, and his soul was born; And thou didst meet thy child, Not in some hidden shrine,But in the freedom of the garden wild, And take his hand in thine,—There all day long in Paradise he walked,And in the cool of evening with thee talked.

III

Lost, long ago, that garden bright and pure, Lost, that calm day too perfect to endure,And lost the child-like love that worshipped and was sure! For men have dulled their eyes with sin, And dimmed the light of heaven with doubt, And built their temple walls to shut thee in, And framed their iron creeds to shut thee out. But not for thee the closing of the door, O Spirit unconfined! Thy ways are free As is the wandering wind, And thou hast wooed thy children, to restore Their fellowship with thee, In peace of soul and simpleness of mind.

IV

Joyful the heart that, when the flood rolled by, Leaped up to see the rainbow in the sky; And glad the pilgrim, in the lonely night, For whom the hills of Haran, tier on tier, Built up a secret stairway to the height Where stars like angel eyes were shining clear. From mountain-peaks, in many a land and age, Disciples of the Persian seer Have hailed the rising sun and worshipped thee; And wayworn followers of the Indian sageHave found the peace of God beneath a spreading tree.

V

But One, but One,—ah, Son most dear,And perfect image of the Love Unseen,— Walked every day in pastures green,And all his life the quiet waters by,Reading their beauty with a tranquil eye.To him the desert was a place prepared For weary hearts to rest; The hillside was a temple blest; The grassy vale a banquet-roomWhere he could feed and comfort many a guest. With him the lily sharedThe vital joy that breathes itself in bloom;And every bird that sang beside the nestTold of the love that broods o’er every living thing. He watched the shepherd bringHis flock at sundown to the welcome fold, The fisherman at daybreak flingHis net across the waters gray and cold,And all day long the patient reaper swingHis curving sickle through the harvest-gold.So through the world the foot-path way he trod,Breathing the air of heaven in every breath;And in the evening sacrifice of deathBeneath the open sky he gave his soul to God.Him will I trust, and for my Master take;Him will I follow; and for his dear sake, God of the open air, To thee I make my prayer.

VI

From the prison of anxious thought that greed has builded,From the fetters that envy has wrought and pride has gilded,From the noise of the crowded ways and the fierce confusion,From the folly that wastes its days in a world of illusion,(Ah, but the life is lost that frets and languishes there!)I would escape and be free in the joy of the open air.

By the breadth of the blue that shines in silence o’er me,By the length of the mountain-lines that stretch before me,By the height of the cloud that sails, with rest in motion,Over the plains and the vales to the measureless ocean,(Oh, how the sight of the greater things enlarges the eyes!)Draw me away from myself to the peace of the hills and skies.

While the tremulous leafy haze on the woodland is spreading,And the bloom on the meadow betrays where May has been treading;While the birds on the branches above, and the brooks flowing under,Are singing together of love in a world full of wonder,(Lo, in the magic of Springtime, dreams are changed into truth!)Quicken my heart, and restore the beautiful hopes of youth.

By the faith that the wild-flowers show when they bloom unbidden,By the calm of the river’s flow to a goal that is hidden,By the strength of the tree that clings to its deep foundation,By the courage of birds’ light wings on the long migration,(Wonderful spirit of trust that abides in Nature’s breast!)Teach me how to confide, and live my life, and rest.

For the comforting warmth of the sun that my body embraces,For the cool of the waters that run through the shadowy places,For the balm of the breezes that brush my face with their fingers,For the vesper-hymn of the thrush when the twilight lingers,For the long breath, the deep breath, the breath of a heart without care,—I will give thanks and adore thee, God of the open air!

VII

These are the gifts I ask Of thee, Spirit serene: Strength for the daily task, Courage to face the road, Good cheer to help me bear the traveller’s load, And, for the hours of rest that come between, An inward joy in all things heard and seen. These are the sins I fain Would have thee take away: Malice, and cold disdain, Hot anger, sullen hate, Scorn of the lowly, envy of the great, And discontent that casts a shadow gray On all the brightness of the common day. These are the things I prize And hold of dearest worth: Light of the sapphire skies, Peace of the silent hills, Shelter of forests, comfort of the grass, Music of birds, murmur of little rills, Shadows of cloud that swiftly pass, And, after showers, The smell of flowers And of the good brown earth,—And best of all, along the way, friendship and mirth. So let me keep These treasures of the humble heart In true possession, owning them by love; And when at last I can no longer move Among them freely, but must part From the green fields and from the waters clear, Let me not creep Into some darkened room and hide From all that makes the world so bright and dear; But throw the windows wide To welcome in the light; And while I clasp a well-belovèd hand, Let me once more have sight Of the deep sky and the far-smiling land,— Then gently fall on sleep,And breathe my body back to Nature’s care,My spirit out to thee, God of the open air.

1904.

< < < Flood-Tide of Flowers
The Toiling of Felix > > >

American Literature – Children Books – American Poetry – Henry Van Dyke – Poems by Henry Van Dyke

If you liked this article, subscribe , put likes, write comments!

Share on social networks

Visit us on Facebook or Twitter

Check out Our Latest Posts

God of the Open Air

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

Leave a comment Cancel reply