With folded hands, bowed head, and heart laden with the myrrh of reverence, I come to Thee. Thou art my parents; I am Thy child. Thou art the Master; I am ready to obey the silent command of Thy voice. I conjured the fragrant devotion of all hearts and mixed it with my tears. Now I am eager to wash Thy feet in silence. A river of my ardent crystal tears of craving rushes forth to meet Thee. Wilt Thou see that my boisterous flood of devotion be not lost in the desert of disappointment? Wilt Thou see that my mad flood of devotion follow always the right course, which leads to Thee?
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