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Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure.  This frail

vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with

fresh life.

This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and

dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.

At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its

limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.

Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of

mine.  Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room

to fill.

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From: GITANJALI – ‘Song Offerings’



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