Dirty Saints

Dirty Saints

Oh come ye sinner kneel in sackcloth, sad,

Down on your face and bite the glorious dust.

Divert your thoughts that dirt is loathsome, bad.

You’re made of it, your brain and body must

Return again. Repent and now convert

To loving and admiring virgin soil.

This earth God made with skillful hands, is dirt

Likewise you get your dirty hands from toil.

So here’s to dust in which the sparrow bathes

And laud to land that raises up rhizomes.

To balmy days that save the soil, give praise.

Hail to the trees and grass, their feet in loam.

Perhaps then, heaven may not be of gold,

But dirt and dust and sand and rocks and mold.