The music of the far-away summer flutters around the Autumn seeking its former nest.

The child ever dwells in the mystery of ageless time, unobscured by the dust of history.

Oh, grant me my prayer, that I may never lose the touch of the one in the play of the many.

In the mountain, stillness surges up to explore its own height. In the lake, movement stands still to contemplate its own depth.

The same stream of life that runs through the world runs through my veins night and day.

Some day I shall sing to thee in the sunrise of some other world, I have seen thee before in the light of the earth, in the love of man.