O you hear the wild birds calling? 

Do you hear them, O my heart? 

Do you see the blue air falling 

From their rushing wings apart? 

With young mosses they are flocking, 

For they hear the laughing breeze, 

With dewy fingers rocking 

Their light cradles in the trees. 

Within Nature's bosom holden, 

'Till the wintry storms were done, 

Little violets, white and golden, 

Now are leaning to the sun. 

With its stars the box is florid, 

And the windflower, sweet to view, 

Hath uncovered its pale forehead 

To the kisses of the dew. 

While thousand blossoms tender, 

As coquettishly as they, 

Are sunning their wild splendor 

In the blue eyes of the May! 

In the water softly dimpled, 

In the flower-enameled sod, 

How beautifully exampled 

Is the providence of God! 

From the insect's little story 

To the fartherest star above, 

All are waves of glory, glory, 

In the ocean of his love. 

—Alice Cary. 

Awesome verses