THOU HAST made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and finest it ever with fresh life. This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new. At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable. Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.
YOU ALWAYS stand alone beyond the stream of my songs. The waves of my tunes wash your feet but I know not how to reach them. This play of mine with you is a play from afar. It is the pain of separation that melts into melody through my flute. I wait for the time when your boat crosses over to my shore and you take my flute into your own hands.