WITH HIS morning songs he knocks at our door bringing his greetings of sunrise. With him we take our cattle to the fields and play our flute in the shade. We lose him to find him again and again in the market crowd. In the busy hour of the day we come upon him of a sudden, sitting on the wayside grass. We march when he beats his drum, We dance when he sings. We stake our joys and sorrows to play his game to the end He stands at the helm of our boat, With him we rock on the perilous waves. For him we light our lamp and wait when our day is done.
THE WORLD is yours at once and for ever. And because you have no want, my king, you have no pleasure in your wealth. It is as though it were naught. Therefore through slow time you give me what is yours, and ceaselessly win your kingdom in me. Day after day you buy your sunrise from my heart, and you find your love carven into the image of my life.
