They cannot know, the keen of sight,

The lovely things I see.

I praise the Lord both day and night That He remembers me.

I see the tree in its new leaf,

A burning bush of green;

Green beyond wonder and belief

Its soft and silken sheen.

I cannot see the birds in boughs,

But an enchanted choir

Sings all day long in a hid house

Of emerald, flame and fire.

I cannot tell where hills leave off

And where the clouds begin:

Such mountains, Alp on Alp, above,

No eye hath ever seen.

Pink blossom on the apple–branch

For me's a rosy bower—

The cherry tree an avalanche

Of snow–white flower on flower.

My distant candle's misted round

With gold and glittering air,

An angel with a glory crowned

Upon the heavenly stair.

I miss the common and the dull,

The small details of things,

And only keep the beautiful,

The stars, the flowers, the wings.

I see the faces that are dear,

The others they may pass.

I thank my God I see not clear,

But dim, as in a glass.

Yea, though the world should slip from sight,

And I no more should see,

I'll praise my God both day and night

That He remembers me.