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The evening air is eager with the sad music of the water. Ah, it

calls me out into the dusk. In the lonely lane there is no

passer-by, the wind is up, the ripples are rampant in the river.

I know not if I shall come back home. I know not whom I shall

chance to meet. There at the fording in the little boat the

unknown man plays upon his lute.

75.

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 incessant stream winds towards the washing

of thy feet.

The flower sweetens the air with its perfume; yet its last

service is to offer itself to thee.

Thy worship does not impoverish the world.

From the words of the poet men take what meanings please them;

yet their last meaning points to thee.

76.

Day after day, O lord of my life, shall I stand before thee face

to face. With folded hands, O lord of all worlds, shall I stand

before thee face to face.