A Prayer

    When I am dying, let me know That I loved the blowing snow Although it stung like whips； That I loved all lovely things And I tried to take their stings With gay unembittered lips； That I loved with all my strength, To my soul's full depth and length, Careless if my heart must break, That I sang as children sing Fitting tunes¹ to everything, Loving life for its own sake.