Glory be to God for disheveled things
For the mall couple-colored as a brindled cow
For muddy puddles and madonna pond in which we swim
Fires in the woods which give us wings
Landscape barren and cig-strewn — drab, cracked, and dead
And all professors, their books and suits and hats
All things out of order, brick, spare, strange
Whatever is dusty, well worn (who knows how?)
With chaos, calm; foul, faith; play, peace;
Her buildings and halls whose beauty is past change
Praise Him.