THE OVERFLOWING bounty of thy grace comes down from the heaven to seek my soul only, wherein it can contain itself. The light that is rained from the sun and stars is fulfilled when it reaches my life. The colour is like sleep that clings, to the flower which waits for the touch of my mind to be awakened. The low that tunes the strings of existence breaks out in music when my heart is won.
'TRAVELLER, WHERE do you go?' I go to bathe in the sea in the redd'ning dawn, along the tree-bordered path.' 'Traveller, where is that sea?' 'There where this river ends its course, where the dawn opens into morning, where the day droops to the dusk.' 'Traveller, how many are they who come with you?' I know not how to count them. They are travelling all night with their lamps lit, they are singing all day through land and water.' 'Traveller, how far is the sea?' 'How far is it we all ask? The rolling roar of its water swells to the sky when we hush our talk. It ever seems near yet far.' 'Traveller, the sun is waxing strong.' 'Yes, our journey is long and grievous. Sing who are weary in spirit, sing who are timid of heart.' 'Traveller, what if the night overtakes you?' 'We shall lie down to sleep till the new morning dawns with its songs, and the call of the sea floats in the air.'
