Away in hills.
How much I long to find in steps
The pace of unpent thought,
Some kind of room to breath
In every truer sense than flesh,
Darling oak and little stream,
Such quiet beauty stirs the loves,
You are the backdrop of my way,
You are the lodge of weary souls,
For you are whiff and shadow of The Great:
The gentle one who walks in all my ways,
Who knows me and draws out my every song.

My Lord most merciful,
Compassionate and regal,
To the heights outstanding,
To the depths fathomless,
I praise you for You're ever good,
May glory be to You,
To the one who makes sense of it all,
The order and the life,
The goodness and the beauty,
The suffering and the pain,
To the one who makes sense of it all:
Have my praise.

Great chunks of air,
Are spiraled near,
They bash the trees,
They strike my ears
And face between,

I hear them fierce,
I watch them run,
They through woods pierce,
And nature's heart
Is struck but firm.