Which term relates the most to the poem "the Making of the Beautiful" by Annie Flint Johnson?
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"The Making of the Beautiful"
Meadow and vale and mountain,
Ocean and lake and wood,-
God looked on the fruit of His labor
And saw that His work was good;
And yet was there something lacking
In the world that He had made,
Something to brighten the greenness,
Something to lighten the shade.·
He took a shred of the rainbow,
A bit of the sunshine's gold,
The colors of all the jewels
The mines of earth enfold,
A piece of the mist of evening
With the sunset woven through,
A scrap of the sky at noonday,
A clear, unclouded blue;
Of these He fashioned the flowers,
And some were red, like the rose,
And some were a lovely azure,
And some were pale as the snows;
Some, shaped like a fairy chalice
The perfumed honey to hold,
And some were stars of silver,
And some were flakes of gold.
They flashed in the gloom' of the forests,
They clung to the boughs of the trees,
They hid in the grass of the meadows,
They drifted away on the breeze,
They fell in the clefts of the canyons
And high on the mountains bare,
Where never an eye should see them
Save His Who had made them fair.
But still there was something wanting,
His labor was not yet done;
lie gathered more of the colors
Of rainbow and sky and sun,
And now unto these He added
The music of sea and land,
The tune of the rippling river,
The splash of the waves on the sand,
The raindrops' lilting measure,
The pine tree's crooning sigh,
The aspen's lisping murmur,
The wind's low lullaby,
Faint fluting of angel voices
From heavenly courts afar,
And the softest, dreamiest echoes
Of the song of the morning star.
Then deftly His fingers molded
The strong and the delicate things
Instinct with the joy and the beauty
Of song and of soaring wings;
Nightingale, heron and seagull,
Bobolink, lark-and then, ·
I think that He smiled a little
As He tilted the tail of the wren,
As He made the owl's face solemn
And twisted the blue jay's crest,
As He bent the beak of the parrot
And smoothed the oriole's vest,
As He burnished the crow's jet plumage
And the robin's breast of red;
"In the cold of the northern springtime
The children will love it," He said.
So some were quaint and cunning,
And some were only fail-,
And some He gave a song to,
And lo, the birds of the air.
And the snippets of things left over,
He tossed out under the skies,
Where, falling, fluttering, flying,
Behold, they were butterflies!
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