There is love like a small lamp, which goes out when the oil is consumed; or like a stream which dries up when it doesn't rain. But there is a love like a mighty spring gushing up out of the earth; it keeps flowing forever, and is inexhaustible . . .
Myriad openings lead to it.
In passing from darkness to light,
One moves freely between eternity
and now.
If this be but true,
I have no fear.
Yet myriad seem the hazards
of the journey.