Praise be for mud when the frost goes out,

And the sap runs and the seeds sprout

And the tree buds burst with a soundless shout!

Beginning time — the time of birth,

The new yeast stirs in the sodden earth.

The depth of mud is a gauge of worth.

Mud to the axle, mud to the knee,

Mud to the laboring whipple-tree,

Working its ancient alchemy ...

Praise be for mud!