Exerpts from the Gitanjali

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.

When thou commandest me to sing it seems that
my heart would break with pride; and I look to thy face, and tears come to my eyes.
All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet harmony ---and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its flight across the sea.

I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. I know that only as a singer
I come before thy presence. I touch by the edge of the far-spreading wing
of my song thy feet which I could never aspire to reach.
Drunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend who art my lord.

From the Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore