"I know how poor I am when I see you," said the Work to the Word.
139
Time is the wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth.
140
Truth in her dress finds facts too tight.
In fiction she moves with ease.
141
When I travelled to here and to there, I was tired of thee, O Road, but now when thou leadest me to everywhere I am wedded to thee in love.
142
Let me think that there is one among those stars that guides my life through the dark unknown.
143
Woman, with the grace of your fingers you touched my things and order came out like music.
144
One sad voice has its nest among the ruins of the years. It sings to me in the night,—"I loved you."
145
The flaming fire warns me off by its own glow. Save me from the dying embers, hidden under ashes.
146
I have my stars in the sky, But oh for my little lamp unlit in my house.
147
The dust of the dead words clings to thee.
Wash thy soul with silence.
148
Gaps are left in life through which comes the sad music of death.
149
The world has opened its heart of light in the morning.
Come out, my heart, with thy love to meet it.
150
My thoughts shimmer with these shimmering leaves and my heart sings with the touch of this sunlight; my life is glad to be floating with all things into the blue of space, into the dark of time.
151
God's great power is in the gentle breeze, not in the storm.
152
This is a dream in which things are all loose and they oppress. I shall find them gathered in thee when I awake and shall be free.
153
"Who is there to take up my duties?" asked the setting sun.
"I shall do what I can, my Master," said the earthen lamp.
154
By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower.
155
Silence will carry your voice like the nest that holds the sleeping birds.
156
The Great walks with the Small without fear.
The Middling keeps aloof.
157
The night opens the flowers in secret and allows the day to get thanks.
158
Power takes as ingratitude the writhlings of its victims.
159
When we rejoice m our fulness, then we can part with our fruits with joy.
160
The raindrops kissed the earth and whispered,—"We are thy homesick children, mother, come back to thee From the heaven."
161
The cobweb pretends to catch dew-drops and catches flies.
162
Love! when you come with the burning lamp of pain in your hand, I can see your face and know you as bliss.
163
"The learned say that your lights will one day be no more." said the fire-fly to the stars.
The stars made no answer.
164
In the dusk of the evening the bird of some early dawn comes to the nest of my silence.
165
Thoughts pass in my mind like flocks of ducks in the sky.
I hear the voice of their wings.
166
The canal loves to think that rivers exist solely to supply it with water.
167
The world has kissed my soul with its pain, asking for its return in songs.
168
That which oppresses me, is it my soul trying to come out in the open, or the soul of the world knocking at my heart for its entrance?
169
Thought feeds itself with its own words and grows.
170
I have dipped the vessel of my heart into this silent hour; it has filled with love.
171
Either you have work or you have not. When you have to say, "Let us do something," then begins mischief.
172
The sunflower blushed to own the nameless flower as her kin.
The sun rose and smiled on it, saying, "Are you well, my darling?"
173
"Who drives me forward like fate?"
"The Myself striding on my back."
174
The clouds fill the watercups of the river, hiding themselves in the distant hills.
175
I spill water from my water jar as I walk on my way,
Very little remains for my home.
176
The water in a vessel is sparkling; the water in the sea is dark. The small truth has words that are clear; the great truth has great silence.
177
Your smile was the flowers of your own fields, your talk was the rustle of your own mountain pines, but your heart was the woman that we all know.
178
It is the little things that I leave behind for my loved ones,—great things are for everyone.
179
Woman, thou hast encircled the world's heart with the depth of thy tears as the sea has the earth.
180
The sunshine greets me with a smile.
The rain, his sad sister, talks to my
181
My flower of the day dropped its petals forgotten.
In the evening it ripens into a golden fruit of memory.
182
I am like the road in the night listening to the footfalls of its memories in silence.
183
The evening sky to me is like a window, and a lighted lamp, and a waiting behind it.
184
He who is too busy doing good finds no time to be good.
185
I am the autumn cloud, empty of rain, see my fulness in the field of ripened rice.
186
They hated and killed and men praised them.
But God in shame hastens to hide its memory under the green grass.
187
Toes