are patient clods waiting to be touched by his feet.

Few are the wise and the great who sit by my Master, but he has
taken the foolish in his arms and made me his servant for ever.



IV

I woke and found his letter with the morning.

I do not know what it says, for I cannot read.

I shall leave the wise man alone with his books, I shall not
trouble him, for who knows if he can read what the letter says.

Let me hold it to my forehead and press it to my heart.

When the night grows still and stars come out one by one I will
spread it on my lap and stay silent.

The rustling leaves will read it aloud to me, the rushing stream
will chant it, and the seven wise stars will sing it to me from
the sky.

I cannot find what I seek, I cannot understand what I would
learn; but this unread letter has lightened my burdens and turned
my thoughts into songs.