We notice first in this poem that the day itself is seen as amazing; the "spirits of trees" that leap suggest their form; the sky is a "blue true dream," and "everything" is natural, infinite and "yes". The speaker is almost breathless; he hardly pauses, having no space even between his semi-colons.
We find the poet both dead, then reborn in his communication with the earth and with nature; he is gradually converted into a new realm of awareness. As in the case of any small child, he views the earth's existence in the language of his newfound cognizance--he is reborn, thus so is the sun and life and love and wings, even the earth itself. All things are new precisely because he is renewed.
Next, his senses become the conduits to the metaphysical. By the word "God" he could mean a personal deity or a pantheist unity unimaginable in essence. The gist of the poem speaks more effectively to the former--glorying in the senses arises from gratitude, which begs a subject. It would be difficult to be grateful to impersonality. Rather, the poem takes on a sacramental meaning; the poet penetrates the world, and the earth itself--as it should--becomes the conduit to unearthly faith.
The speaker is finite, a "human merely being" grasping for the "unimaginable" infinite, and discovering faith through what is; in other words, through the physicality of the earth surrounding him. Hence, he concludes, "now the ears of my ears awake