I saw God wash the world last night
With his sweet showers on high,
And then, when morning came, I saw
Him hang it out to dry.
He washed each tiny blade of grass
And every trembling tree;
He flung his showers against the hill,
And swept the billowing sea.
The white rose is cleaner white,
The red rose is more red,
Since God washed every fragrant face
And put them all to bed.
There’s not a bird, there’s not a bee
That wings along the way
But is a cleaner bird and bee
Than it was yesterday.
I saw God wash the world last night.
Ah, would he had washed me
As clean of all my dust and dirt
As that old white birch tree.
William L. Stidger