wonders.

And again when it shall be thy wish to end this play at night, I
shall melt and vanish away in the dark, or it may be in a smile
of the white morning, in a coolness of purity transparent.


On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time. But it is
never lost, my lord. Thou hast taken every moment of my life in
thine own hands.

Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into
sprouts, buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into
fruitfulness.

I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed and imagined all work had
ceased. In the morning I woke up and found my garden full with
wonders of flowers.


Time is endless in thy hands, my lord. There is none to count
thy minutes.

Days and nights pass and ages bloom and fade like flowers. Thou
knowest how to wait.

Thy centuries follow each other perfecting a small wild flower.

We have no time to lose, and having no time we must scramble for
a chances. We are too poor to be late.