The earth is not a mere fragment of dead history, a stratum upon stratum like the leaves of a book, to be studied by biologists and antiquarians chiefly, but living poetry like the leaves of a tree, which precede flowers and fruit — not a fossil earth but a living earth.
Silent in the face of beauty
Silent in the morning light
Silent on the way of duty
Silent in the awesome night.
Silent on the way to silence
Where the Word unspoken dwells
Silent on the way to silence
Where the dear Beloved dwells.