I stroll along God's promenade
As walk along a country lane
In awe the beauty he hath made
Upon my face a morning rain.
'Side golden fields of farmer's grain
Wild flowers bloom in sweet bouquet
Cattle lowing, bovine refrain
Amid the grass in distant lea.
Down in the dell, white picket fence
Sits white cottage, of gentlefolk
Yet in my thoughts, I have a sense
Am not awake, have not yet woke.
Am I worthy of wond'rous grace
That can create such beauteous place.
[This message has been edited by Tim (edited 07-15-99).]