Our Earthly Flight
By W. Carl Rufus
Our Earth is like a transport plane,
That carries wealth surpassing gold.
It trafficks not for paltry gain:
Its cargoes are not bought nor sold.
It holds its course around the sun;
Nor rolls, nor banks, nor stalls, nor spins.
Its yearly flight is never done;
When winter ends, the spring begins.
At eighteen-miles-per-second speed
Without an instrument in sight,
No stick to hold, no maps to read,
It travels on by day and night.
It bears a load of human freight;
From birth to death, men come and go.
They live and love, they toil and hate,
For good or ill, for weal or woe.
A billion walk its crowded ways:
And billions sleep beneath its sod.
But souls are safe through stormy days:
The unseen Pilot’s name is God.
Image credit: NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center.