IN THE EVENING my little daughter heard a call from her companions below the window. She timidly went down the dark stairs holding a lamp in her hand, shielding it behind her veil. I was sitting on my terrace in the star-lit night of March, when at a sudden cry I ran to see. Her lamp had gone out in the dark spiral staircase. I asked, 'Child, why did you cry?' From below she answered in distress, 'Father, I have lost myself!'
TO THE BIRDS you gave songs, the birds gave you songs in return. You gave me only voice, yet asked for more, and I sing. You made your winds light and they are fleet in their service. You burdened my hands that I myself may lighten them, and at last, gain unburdened freedom for your service. You created your Earth filling its shadows with fragments of light. There you paused; you left me empty-handed in the dust to create your heaven. To all things else you give; from me you ask. The harvest of my life ripens in the sun and the shower till I reap more than you sowed, gladdening your heart, 0 Master of the golden granary.