The waning night lingers at my doors, let her take her leave in
songs.
Pour your heart into my life strings, my Master, in tunes that
descend from your stars.
L
In the lightning flash of a moment I have seen the immensity of
your creation in my life--creation through many a death from
world to world.
I weep at my unworthiness when I see my life in the hands of the
unmeaning hours,--but when I see it in your hands I know it is
too precious to be squandered among shadows.
LI
I know that at the dim end of some day the sun will bid me its
farewell.
Shepherds will play their pipes beneath the banyan trees, and
cattle graze on the slope by the river, while my days will pass
into the dark.
This is my prayer, that I may know before I leave why the earth
called me to her arms.
Why her night's silence spoke to me of stars, and her daylight
kissed my thoughts into flower.
Before I go may I linger over my last refrain, completing its
music, may the lamp be lit to see your face and the wreath woven
to crown you.
LII
What music is that in whose measure the world is rocked?
We laugh when it beats upon the crest of life, we shrink in
terror when it returns into the dark.
But the play is the same that comes and goes with the rhythm of
the endless music.
You hide your treasure in the palm of your hand, and we cry that
we are robbed.
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