Read at the Banquet of the National Medical Association, Boston, August 26, 1909

Earth -- out of Earth God shaped and made
All lovely things to signify His love:-
The flowers arrayed
On the shy amorous bosom of the Spring;
All vegetable forms that move
Up to the rain and sun for harvesting:
Odors and colors, beasts and birds
Are symbols, signs and words
Of the unfathomable mystery of Earth;
And out of Earth God made His spouse
Nature-the fruitful bride of His terrene house,
And her He filled with tears and mirth,
With grace and strength, and scorn and hate,
With hope and quietude,
Patience and fortitude,
Passion and dream,
And Fate:
Nature, the immaculate Mother, Nature the bride
Of God's own [illegible], conceived and brought
Forth of God's Spirit and Earth
Man to his birth.

The body of Man!
Infinite perfection of dust!
Shadowy as desire
On the crust
Of a world
In the blazing path of a million whirling suns;
Strong to lift all heaven's weight of stars
In the will of brain, and the fire
Of passionate, pulsing blood;
Swift as a lightning, hurled
Down by the sickle of Time;
Imperishable as bronze
In the seed of parenthood;
Beautiful and sublime
In color and shape and line:—
Divine,
This infinite perfection of dust,
The body of Man!

On this mysterious plan
God build Him His temple of Man 
Of indestructible dust;
And He gave ye the trust
As a sacred dower
To keep it in beauty
For ye are the priests and the keepers of this,
The visible temple of God.
From the time of man's birth to his sleep in the sod
Ye must hold to the duty,
The service and the sacrifice,
Building, rebuilding, and building anew
The structure of flesh, with the subtle device
Of a skill the schools have taught you,
Of a wisdom which Nature alone imparts.
Ye bring no wares to the marts,
Ye barter no loss or gain;
Ye stand at the altar-steps of life
For the sole redemption of pain.
Time and the world's unintelligible strife
Batter humanity
Patient and serene, ye come to lives that grieve.
Discern your dedicated duty
Heal and retrieve.

Ye gatherers here,—
Keepers with all the world's keepers
Of God's temple of dustYe tarry the dream from the sleepers,
And the death, life gives to your trust;--
And ye fare,
With your infinite skill, the perfect skill that ye have
When life battles with death,
Ye fare and lead us
Out of the hurts that bleed us,
Not alone from the grave
Of endless sleep:
But by the power ye have
When life struggles with death,
Ye keep
The pride and hope of a Race that toils the sleep.

Published in Colored American Magazine, September 1909