Though I pray in a fane by your worshippers thronged,
There is no one who worships you so.
My hand and my heart and my brain, ah, divine
Lord, master of living, I give,
O little green god in your crystal shrine,
Take these—and then bid me to live!
By a green marble house in a garden of green,
Green roses bloom ’neath a green sun,
Where the maidens have eyes of an emerald sheen,
And the strife and the labor are done,