O Divine Mother, the bee of my mind is ever engrossed in Thy lotus feet of blue light. It drinks the honey of Thy motherly love. This bee will drink no other honey but that which is graced by Thy perfume‐sweetness.
O Divine Mother, flying over the gardens of my fancy, denying myself the honey of lesser pleasures, I have found at last the ambrosia buried in Thy lotus‐heart.
I have been Thy busy bee. I have soared through the fields of many incarnations, breathing the airs of countless experiences. I will roam now no more: Thy fragrance has quenched at last the perfume‐thirst of my soul.