Reaching into silence.

IV. PRIEDIEU

Beauty passes
But dust is eternal.
Outside the temple
Beauty dies in the wind.

So when my temple is fallen
And lies in dust,
Where then will be the memory
Of your beauty?

I pray my dust
That it may hold your image
Tomorrow and for ever.

V. FESTIVAL

The beloved is returning,
Let the bells ring!

I too am a tower
Hung with bronze bells,

I too am a bell
Chiming to the winds,

I too am the wind