Make My Heart, O Heart Of The

I Was You And Never Knew It.

The Past, The Future, O Dear, Is From You; You Should Regard Both These As One.

Love Is The Soul's Light, The Taste Of Morning, No Me, No We, No Claim Of Being.

It Is Certain That An Atom Of Goodness On The Path Of Faith Is Never Lost.

Your Hand Opens And Closes, Opens And Closes. If It Were Always A Fist Or Always Stretched Open, You Would Be Paralysed. Your Deepest Presence Is In Every Small Contracting And Expanding, The Two As Beautifully Balanced And Coordinated As Birds' Wings.