Here’s the rest of the above poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins. It’s one of my favorites
The world is charged with the grandeur of God It will flame out, like shining from shook foil; It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod? Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil; And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; And though the last light off the black West went Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward springs – Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Grace and peace,
MO