We rot in the molds of Venus, We retch at her tainted breath.
Foul are her flooded jungles, Crawling with unclean death.
We've tried each spinning space mote And reckoned its true worth:
Take us back again to the homes of men On the cool, green hills of Earth.
The arching sky is calling Spacemen back to their trade.
All hands! Stand by! Free falling! And the lights below us fade.
Out ride the sons of Terra, Far drives the thundering jet,
Up leaps the race of Earthmen — Out, far, and onward yet
We pray for one last landing On the globe that gave us birth;
Let us rest our eyes on the fleecy skies And the cool, green hills of Earth.
