Thou art the sky and Thou art also the nest.
O Thou Beautiful! how in the nest thy love embraceth the soul with sweet sounds and colour and fragrant odours!
Morning cometh there, bearing in her golden basket the wreath of beauty, silently to crown the earth.
And there cometh Evening, o'er lonely meadows deserted of the herds, by trackless ways, carrying in her golden pitcher cool draughts of peace from the ocean-calms of the west.
But where thine infinite sky spreadeth for the soul to take her flight, a stainless white radiance reigneth; wherein is neither day nor night, nor form nor colour, nor ever any word.