I Cannot Count the Leaves

I do not count the leaves.
When the autumn colors set in with a quiet warm blaze, and the breeze breathes cool upon the morning dew, I do not count the leaves.
When the morning light flickers on the bows of the trees, and the daily song grows cool and calm, I do not count the leaves.

There the shadows dance in treaded pastures,
And the sky drips of blue.
It is there where I long to be, where all my thirsty questions can drink.
What am I that you should be mindful of me?
Who are you, that I might be still and know you are, and were, and will come?

I am nothing,
And your ways are higher than my ways,
Your thoughts higher that my thoughts.
This I long to know,
How small I am
And how great you are!

Infinite God!
I do not count the leaves,
I cannot count the leaves.
But can I count on you,
To do what you have said what you will do?

I cannot find a word; oh I cannot find a word,
I weep because I cannot find a word.
A word to tell of you,
Glorious, eternal, infinite, limitless, holy,
There is no height, no fathom of depths, no dark of nights, no weight or bar,
No word to tell of you.

Emanuel, Emanuel!
That must suffice for now.
I cannot count the leaves,
To count the flickers on the bow.
This I must leave
To you.

Nice patoral poem. I love the pun at the end, and the exclamation: Emanuel, Emanuel! I can hear it echo among the autumn trees.