We seek God in beauty. Some look to the purity of mathematics, and the fact that here is a language in which the (known) complex truths of the universe can be expressed elegantly, though perhaps the greatest wonder is that there is a language in which they can be expressed at all. Others look to the way all things mesh in a complex working pattern that speaks of reason going up and going down.
All of these pale next to the everyday poetry of the English language. Just to steal a few recent examples from overheard exchanges with, oh, I don’t know, some random stranger and my their children:

The rubbish goes in
the bin
not on
the bin,
in
the bin

Or the plaintive cry that echoes through the ages

Oh where
is my clean
underwear

The simplest is my favourite, and is what gives me comfort at 3am

Mum
There’s poo
on my shoe

Some will argue that these rhymes in-built into the language are mere happenstance and not demonstrative of anything, that for proof of the divine one must reveal a deeper poetry, expressed more subtly than in rhyme. Look no further. What could resonate deeper in the human soul than this cry of anguish, taken again at random from a snippet of a television show that I could not possibly have been watching? The scream of despair from a dismissed suitor, banished by Desiree from “The Bachelorette:

I’m not just a magician!

I am at peace, regardless of what comes my way today.