To God Be The Glory

To God be the glory,

The morning groomed a-frolic;

The trees with a million leaves, all green,

Bow a-graceful to the King;

An inch I’ve grown and I see the skies wide,

With twinkles of light, all a-pearly;

The poppies shoot bright in crimson of red,

The butterflies hover

With moods all a-lovely;

A-sneaky they peak – the moles from their holes,

The peacocks boast – their feather eyes sure could see;

And all together, the skies we admire;

The birds flocking far, full of pride,

They are closer to God – You know?

But till the day is done and the eyes see not’n

It’s merry a-making,

To God be the glory.