ON MANY AN idle day have I grieved over lost time. But it is never lost, my lord. Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands. Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts, buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness. I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed and imagined all work had ceased. In the morning I woke up and found my garden full with wonders of flowers.
I WAS WITH THE crowd when I was in the road; Where the road ends I find myself alone with you. I knew not when my day dimmed into dusk and my companions left me. I knew not when your doors opened and I stood surprised at my own heart's music. But are there still traces of tears in my eyes though the bed is made, the lamp is lit, and we are alone, you and I?
