When the storm bursts and darkness is over the sky she is
sleepless; her dolls lie scattered on the earth and she clings to
you in terror.
She is afraid that she may fail in service to you.
But with a smile you watch her at her game.
You know her.
The child sitting in the dust is your destined bride; her play
will be stilled and deepened into love.
LXII
"What is there but the sky, O Sun, that can hold thine image?"
"I dream of thee, but to serve thee I can never hope," the
dewdrop wept and said, "I am too small to take thee unto me,
great lord, and my life is all tears."
"I illumine the limitless sky, yet I can yield myself up to a
tiny drop of dew," thus the Sun said; "I shall become but a
sparkle of light and fill you, and your little life will be a
laughing orb."
LXIII
Not for me is the love that knows no restraint, but like the
foaming wine that having burst its vessel in a moment would run
to waste.
Send me the love which is cool and pure like your rain that
blesses the thirsty earth and fills the homely earthen jars.
Send me the love that would soak down into the centre of being,
and from there would spread like the unseen sap through the
branching tree of life, giving birth to fruits and flowers.
Send me the love that keeps the heart still with the fulness of
peace.
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