(Chesterton’s gratitude for the gift of existence):

 "By the Babe Unborn" by G.K. Chesterton  

If trees were tall and grasses short,  

As in some crazy tale,  

If here and there a sea were blue  

Beyond the breaking pale,  

If a fixed fire hung in the air  

To warm me one day through,  

If deep green hair grew on great hills,  

I know what I should do.  

In dark I lie; dreaming that there  

Are great eyes cold or kind,  

And twisted streets and silent doors,  

And living men behind.  

Let storm clouds come: better an hour,  

And leave to weep and fight,  

Than all the ages I have ruled  

The empires of the night.  

I think that if they gave me leave  

Within the world to stand,  

I would be good through all the day  

I spent in fairyland.  

They should not hear a word from me  

Of selfishness or scorn,  

If only I could find the door,  

If only I were born.