Do not miss the beautiful, ye friends of frantic pace,

And curse the one who dared to call this life the human race.

Tis not to the sprinter the prize is bestowed,

But rather to the one who takes his time as he goes.

For humans are our knighted name, image bearers we,

To us alone is granted such a privilege to see.

These crusty eyes, hardened by their solitary stare,

Only used to seek for more, all else lies unaware.

These blinders are a curse indeed, they shield the glorious view,

And make us think that all of life is buying something new.

We pass by the miracles, lost in our own worlds,

Searching for a grain of sand while stepping over pearls.

All around us treasures lay. The cost? Alas, they’re free!

But we would rather spend our sweat in fruitless agony.

Break free, I say! Unlock the door, remove the heavy chain,

Unloose these eyes into the light and let the splendor reign.

For our sight was made for so much more than inward glance,

Our sight was made for grasping majesty and dance!

It soars above our mortal heads, it creeps amongst the trees,

It peers between the clouds at night at ghostly Cypress knees.

It travels South in winter, it composes its own song,

It revels ’mongst the Buttercups who stand ten thousand strong.

For those who have such eyes to see, such ears to comprehend,

Do not miss the beautiful, the stuff of life to men.