In summer, in the open air,
I seek my Sabbath house of prayer
Among the friendly trees;
Beneath a blue and shining dome
Where clouds like watchful angels roam
To guard the land and seas.

My prayer book open on my knee,
Another prayer is taught to me;
A Torah without words;
I hear it sung by swinging leaves,
By every breeze that sighs and heaves,
By all the choirs of birds.

The buzzing insects sing His praise,
And all the flowers with modest ways
Swing silently in awe;
They praise my God that made us all.
This is my people, green and small,
That shares my life and law.

The little shining leaves of vine
That lay their tiny hands in mind
Are praying, every one.
The maples, shimmering overhead,
Remember all that God has said
And tremble In the sun!

O Lord that made my People hold
Thy covenant from days of old!
Is this Thy people too?
Though we Thy truth at Sinai saw;
Each race has its eternal law;
Each life its task to do!