Gerard Manley Hopkins
    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 & 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 lights 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 & with ah! bright wings.
God's Grandeur