If we'd see the beauty,
We lost in the foreground,
Think but how we'd create it,
And what it took life to do so.
In our let us mind trace a hand,
Thro' each shade and grain and tone,
In level within level of detail,
From the largest to smallest.
And try if we must go so far:
Take up brush, chisel, baton,
We will never be its equal,
For all our sapience over it.
However we may meditate
In our worship upon nature,
It will ever be greater than us,
And remain better the creator.
We cannot hold its complexity,
Within our own small part of it.
It cannot fit within our selves,
And so must always overwhelm.
Only if life seems straightforward,
Do we understand naught of it.
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