Make Me, Oh God, The

When You Work You Are A Flute Through Whose Heart The Whispering Of The Hours Turns To Music. Which Of You Would Be A Reed, Dumb And Silent, When All Else Sings Together In Unison?

And Before My Soul Took Me To Task I Was Hard Of Hearing; I Heard Only Tumult And Uproar. But Now I Am All Ears Listening To The Silence And Its Choirs Singing The Hymns Of Time, Intoning The Praises Of The Firmament, Revealing The Secrets Of The Invisible.

That Deed Which In Our Guilt We Today Call Weakness, Will Appear Tomorrow As An Essential Link In The Complete Chain Of Man.

You Shall Be Held Down By The Chains Of Your Own Judgment.

Art Arises When The Secret Vision Of The Artist And The Manifestation Of Nature Agree To Find New Shapes.