Dust

A dust storm blankets Texas houses, April 1935 – George E. Marsh

I am but dust, and dust will I be When gravity, heavy, wears down and claims me. I am a nothing, for so I have learned: "From dust thou art, and to dust shall return." I am but dust, and wind! How it blows me! But God, He is mindful: He follows me, knows me. He knows where I float, He knows where I fly; He knows where to meet me the day that I die. I am but dust – the dust on dry bones; The dust that collects in the oldest of homes. I am but dust, and though lowly esteemed, My God will command and give purpose to me. For I am of dust: the dust that makes mountains, Upon whose stern sides flow the purest of fountains. I am towering, fearsome, and strong; A relic, a record, of ages bygone.

I am of dust that covers the shore;

Number my thousands and I'm still thousands more.

I am a vast, breathtaking expanse,

Upon whom the lovers in passion all dance.

I am of dust, galactic and grand,

That burns in the stars that outnumber the sand.

I fill the skies and the reaches of space;

A shining example – a proof – of God's grace.

I am of dust – next to God, I am nothing;

But God is my Father, and to Him I am something.

I am but dust – a trifle, a small thing;

But in the hands of a God, it is I who do all things.

How great is the need to make these things known:

To let ev'ry particle know where they've flown.

So I'll lift my voice and I'll give Him my trust.

I'll boast in my God for making me dust.

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About the Author

Once a mighty warrior in the pre-existence, Gazelem retired and came to earth to get a body and explore the arts. Outside of Latter-day Saint art and literature, you can find him writing and editing for ProvoMusicMagazine.com and playing keys for Michael Barrow & The Tourists.