A prayer from the journals of Thomas Merton (May 20, 1961)
Today, Father, the blue sky praises you.
The delicate green and orange flowers of the tulip poplar praise you.
The distant blue hills praise you,
with the sweet-smelling air that is full of brilliant light.
The bickering flycatchers praise you,
with the lowing bulls and the quails that whistle over there,
and I, too, Father, praise you with these creatures my brothers.
You have made us all together and you have placed me here this morning in the midst of them.
And here I am.
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