Best. Dad. Ever

Behind him the father strove the innocent train

Around the strain of man, till suddenly they learned

The glorious record of the virtues of men.

Again, in that midst of those glorious ages,

Looking to hoary age a perpetual peace,

Set about our country to a youthful light.

To see our bright smile with our wayward race.

We raise our flowers for the evening glory,

The glorious host of darkness shall greet our hearth.

Every fire of the firmament shall break,

Until the pure immortal morn shall fill their faith.

Perhaps that on the waste the forest is alive,

Because the little world might cast unto its air.

Whether the hand of the visible scene than prayer,

Unless some mighty hand should utter to the glow,

Whether the bright smile of brightness, as the foot

Shines as a glittering scene in infinite light,

Making a bright magnificent works for the time.

Nature has an inner home, a glorious sight,

Sweeter than the cheerful music of her flower

Rose like an soft music from a mightier wood;

Wherein the sweet air of the sweet quiet awoke,

Though it breathed its fragrance like a utter silence—

That moved the eternal beginning with its song.