•  1 min. read  •  grade level: 2
THE earth beneath is beautiful,
And every tree and flower;
The heaven above is beautiful,
In sunshine and in shower.
The golden day is beautiful,
That wakes the world with light;
And beautiful the gems that bind
The shadowy brow of night.
There's beauty where the tempest flaps
Her dark wing o'er the deep;
And where the calm, still waters lie
Hushed into quiet sleep.
It shineth o'er the ancient hills,
Whose mighty bosoms hold
Memorials of a giant race
That walked the earth of old.
And down amid the blossom'd vales,
And through the twilight wood,
God hath made all things beautiful,
And all was very good.
Ah! Who would think, to look abroad
Upon a world so fair,
That all is enmity with God,
That sin and death are there?
Alas! alas! the vision bright
Is but a fading dream -
Those scenes of beauty and delight,
They are not what they seem.
A thing polluted 'neath the curse;
A troubled groan is all,
That meets the eye and ear of faith,
Since Adam's fearful fall.
And all must pass like fleeting clouds
Of early morn away.
The whole creation waits its change,
Its solemn purging day.
The Lord of day, the peerless sun,
Shall turn to darkness soon;
The shadow of the day go down
Upon the gentle moon.
The stars which through six thousand years
Their changeless course have kept,
Shall fall like withered leaves o'er which
The autumn blast hath swept.
And He whose voice once shook the earth,
The trembling heavens shall move,
And judgment's voice awake the hearts
That never woke to love.