To A Cloud

Quiet wisp of fluffy mist, small and unknown
In pompous dignity you roam the skies;
And in your silent whiteness move alone,
Above the heavy din of human sighs.

So frail white shape that birds can cut the cloak
Of jeweled haziness that’s yours to wear.
Though of our world you never feel the stroke
Of weariness humans of earth must bear.

You pass high o’re the chaos and the grime.
As nations mighty rise - crumble to soil.
As men go ever on through endless time
What purpose yours to the life of toil?

What do you add to this productive sphere?
What talents yours - to gain your right to be?
What power yours? - ‘tis hardly one of fear;
More fairy-like the vision man doth see.

Perhaps just peace is of the gift you give.
None may deny the comfort that you bring.
Me thinks your rains which give men strength to live
Are far surpassed by one still greater thing.

If, as you pass, your beauty lights one face
Or leads one wandering mind to greater thought,
You have endowed a soul with Godly grace,
And brought men closer to the bond still sought.

Linger then, sifting the sun’s great power.
In lovely leisure moving through the skies.
Thy greatest gift hour upon hour
Bringing the joy of beauty to men’s eyes.