Thy gifts to us mortals fulfil all our needs and yet run back to thee undiminished. The river has its everyday work to do and hastens through fields and hamlets; yet its ceaseless incessant stream is engaged at washing of thy feet. The flower sweetens the air with its perfume, yet its last service is to offer itself to thee. It is never a performance of thy worship to rob and make the world poorer. From words uttered by the poet men take meanings as they wish— it suits their needs, yet their last meaning always points to thee.
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