You read this book
because you too
long to lap up light
from the brimming river of the world.
It has flowed through all
the tumultuous and shadowy ages.
It has humbly sung
its own glories
into its glories—
the songs of God and of Creation.
Many have sung the politic song.
It was their duty
to reflect the uncountable harsh injustices.
While others,
whether by the hand of pain
or Love upon their shoulder,
were made to kneel down
to press their lips into life's liquor
—and taste Light.
I know now
I am writing for you,
rebuilders of the world,
makers of Love's final kingdom.
Read this book unto the birds for me;
sing it to the gallant wolves;
recite its songs
to children in firelight;
whisper it into the hearts of trees.
And please know,
you who live now in what was once
only our distant, dreamt of future;
that you have made your ancestors rich
—beyond all earthly riches—
by your wisdom,
and your passionate love.