I think I may have posted this before, I can't remember, but I think it bears repeating. Again, thanks to this marvelous site.
If sunset clouds could grow on trees
It would but match the may in flower;
And skies be underneath the seas
No topsyturvier than a shower.
If mountains rose on wings to wander
They were no wilder than a cloud;
Yet all my praise is mean as slander,
Mean as these mean words spoken aloud.
And never more than now I know
That man's first heaven is far behind;
Unless the blazing seraph's blow
Has left him in the garden blind.
Witness, O Sun that blinds our eyes,
Unthinkable and unthankable King,
That though all other wonder dies
I wonder at not wondering.
P.S. For those who were wondering about the absence of Father Brown Friday... I have consulted the committee and we have decided to have them monthly rather then weekly. This will allow more time for discussion, for reading the story, and hopefully bring about very good discussion questions. So for our next discussion (I'm not yet sure when that will be) the story is The Queer Feet (story #3 of The Innocence). And if you're bored (or even if you're not) please do join in our previous discussions of The Blue Cross and The Flying Stars.