THOU HAST come again to me in the burst of a sudden storm, filling my sky with the shudder of thy shadowy clouds. The Sun is hidden, the stars are lost; the red line of the road is merged in the mist of the rain; the wail of the wind comes across the water. Fitful showers, like ghastly fingers, strike the chords of some unseen harp, waking up the music of the dark, sweeping my heart with a shiver of sounds.
WHEN BELLS sounded in your temple in the morning, men and women hastened down the woodland path with their offerings of fresh flowers. But I lay on the grass in the shade and let them pass by. I think it was well that I was idle, for then my flowers were in bud. At the end of the day they have bloomed, and I go to my evening worship.
