Wandering through forests of incessant searching, I arrived at the mystery door which conceals Thy presence. I knocked loudly on this door of silence, with persistent blows of faith. At last, the door opened and I beheld Thee, resting, on Thy altar of glorious visions.
I stood with restless gaze, waiting for Thee to speak. Thy creation‐making voice was inaudible. At last a deep stillness stole upon me and taught me in whispers the language of angels. With the lisping voice of my new‐born freedom I tried to speak. Suddenly the lights in Thy temple wrote brilliantly in letters of light.
In my little chamber of quietness I am ever at rest. I never speak now, but with the voice of silence. Through my silence, O Divine Lover, converse Thou eloquently with me.
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57. Teach Me to Use Every Dig of Criticism to Bring Myself Near the Fountain of Goodness in Me
