GOD LOVES TO see in me, not his servants,
but himself who serves all.

I REMEMBER the day.
        The heavy shower of rain is slackening into fitful pauses, renewed gusts of wind startle it from a first lull.
        I take up my instrument. Idly I touch the strings, till, without my knowing, the music borrows the mad cadence of that storm.
        I see her figure as she steals from her work, stops at my door, and retreats with hesitating steps. She comes again, stands outside leaning against the wall, then slowly enters the room and sits down. With head bent, she plies her needle in silence; but soon stops her work, and looks out of the window through the rain at the blurred line of trees.
        Only this-one hour of a rainy noon filled with shadows and song and silence.

YOU SEEMED from afar
titanic in your mysterious majesty of terror.
With palpitating heart I stood before your presence.
Your knitted brows boded ill
and sudden came down the blow
with a growl and a crash.
My bones cracked,
with bowed head I waited
for the final fury to come.
It came.
And I wondered, could this be all of the menace?
With your weapon held high in suspense
you looked mightily big.
To strike me you came down
to where I crouched low on the ground.
You suddenly became small
and I stood up.
From thence there was only pain for me
but no fear.
Great you are as death itself,
but your victim is greater than death.