Hymn to things we know

I lift my voice to celebrate the sun And praise its acolytes the stars, hail earth That in the passage of a year adds one Line more to its vast catalog of birth: Field mouse and mole and all things burrowing, Creatures that run and leap and dive and soar And hide their nests in the soil's furrowing; Seeds, too, planting their secrets in the core Of night, and winds that mark unruly time Around the quadrants of the churning globe, Encircling mountains where the wild goats climb And rivers where the shore birds dip and probe - All these are treasures it is joy to share With those whose word for ''commonplace'' is ''rare.''