PICK UP THIS life of mine from the dust. Keep it under your eyes, in the palm of your right hand. Hold it up in the light, hide it under the shadow of death; keep it in the casket of the night with your stars, and then in the morning let it find itself among flowers that blossom in worship.
YOURS IS THE light that breaks forth from the dark, and the good that sprouts from the cleft heart of strife. Yours is the house that opens upon the world, and the love that calls to the battlefield. Yours is the gift that still is a gain when everything is a loss, and the life that flows through the caverns of death. Yours is the heaven that lies in the common dust, and you are there for me, you are there for all.