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Make me Silent, that I may eloquently converse with Thee. |
I wandered through forests of incessant searchings, and arrived
at the mystery door of Thy presence. On the doors of silence I knocked
loudly with my persistent blows of faith, and the doors of space
opened. There, on the altar of glorious visions, I beheld Thee,
resting.
I stood, with restless eyes, waiting for Thee to speak. I heard
not Thy creation-making voice. At last the spell of stillness stole
upon me, and in whispers taught me the language of angels. With
the lisping voice of new-born freedom, I tried to speak, and the
lights of Thy temple assumed sudden brilliancy and wrote letters
of light.
In my little chamber of quietness, I am always resting: I never
speak but with the voice of my silence. Through my silence, eloquently
converse with me.
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