I know the little earth on which I go,
Is but a smallest speck of cosmic dust,
And I — dust of the driven dust — I know
I shall return again as all things must.

I know the song I sing is but the rush
Of some cell energy, that the desire
Of my prayer is an atomic hush,
And love is but a chemistry of fire.

And yet I sing, I cherish what is fair,
And drink the brimming cup that Beauty gives;
Free as a dream, unbidden, moves my prayer,
Love like a thing immortal in me lives.

O dust, O earth, child of a wandering star,
It is enough, remain what thing you are!