I am Thy lark of life, flitting through Thy skies of cosmic delight, thirstily looking upward for every raindrop of Thy inspiration. Filter through the heavy, dark clouds of limited awareness, and shower on all the reminders of Thy omnipresence.

I will savor attentively every raindrop of perception that touches my parched, craving tongue. I will drink Thy inspirations deeply into myself, and will welcome any drenching by Thy raindrops of outer happiness that gently fall upon my frail, sense‐driven body.

My age‐long thirst will cease only when Thy touch has cooled my inner craving, and soothed the upward‐straining ardor in my body. The storm of hopeless despondency has yielded to the raindrops of Thy peace. Softly, now, they moisten my long‐withered being. Now will I it everywhere, singing songs of my contentment.

Oh! Make me Thy lark, seeking no other drink but Thy solace, sprinkling down from the heaven of Thy presence everywhere.


50. Make Me a Smile-Millionaire