In the summer days of life, teach me to gather the honey from flowers of quality, which grow in the garden of human souls.
In the honeycomb of my heart. I will store perfumed forgiveness, myrrh-scented devotion, the rare essence of lotus-souls — fragrant honey of a million soul-flowers. And when the snowflakes of wintry experiences and earthly separation dance around me, I shall hide in the honeycomb of my heart, where I often found Thee stealing the honey of my stored devotion.
Where Thou camest — in that spot made hallow by the dust of Thy feet — I will lie. In the depth of Thy footprints may I find my nook of safety.