In the quiet of the night we ponder,
Gazing at the stars with wonder.
Are we the only ones to tread,
On this blue sphere where life is spread?

Are we truly lonely, on this blue marble sphere?
This pale dot, a mote of dust, adrift, with naught to hear?
No alien footprint lingers, on this shore whereon we roam,
Are we the only story, whispered back to home?

Crusoe on his island, a lonely searching soul,
Stumbled on a footprint, a story yet untold.
A mark upon the sand, a whisper in the breeze,
Proof of another presence, carried on the seas.

Moon-dusted boots still linger there,
While Mars rovers tread with mechanical flair.
Dinosaurs' tracks from eons past,
But cosmic visitors? Unsurpassed.

From ants to giants, all leave a trace,
But where's the mark of otherworldly grace?
Like Crusoe on his island shore,
We search for signs, but find no more.

Happisburgh whispers secrets, of giants from the past,
Their footprints etched in stone, forever meant to last.
Eve's delicate impression, a testament to time,
Of ancestors who walked this Earth, beneath a different clime.

On this mote of dust we stand,
Scanning skies with outstretched hand.
Are we the only ones who roam?
Or is the cosmos also home?

Let me lean hard upon the Eternal Breast:
In all earth's devious ways I sought for rest
And found it not. I will be strong, said I,
And lean upon myself. I will not cry
And importune all heaven with my complaint.
But now my strength fails, and I fall, I faint:
Let me lean hard.

Let me lean hard upon the unfailing Arm.
I said I will walk on, I fear no harm,
The spark divine within my soul will show
The upward pathway where my feet should go.
But now the heights to which I most aspire
Are lost in clouds. I stumble and I tire:
Let me lean hard.

Let me lean harder yet. That swerveless force
Which speeds the solar systems on their course
Can take, unfelt, the burden of my woe,
Which bears me to the dust and hurts me so.
I thought my strength enough for any fate,
But lo! I sink beneath my sorrow's weight:
Let me lean hard.