I have spent many days stringing and unstringing my instrument while the song I came to sing remains unsung.

Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep?

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.

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