shall live their little lucid sober day
ere with the sun their souls exhale away.
now in each pettiest personal sphere of dew
the summ'd morn shines complete as in the blue
big dew-drop of all heaven: with these lit shrines
o'er-silvered to the farthest sea-confines,
the sacramental marsh one pious plain
of worship lies.
excerpted from "hymns of the marshes" by sidney lanier