Drop They still dews of quietness
Til all our strivings cease;
Take from our souls the strain and stress,
And let our ordered lives confess
the beauty of Thy peace.
~ John Greenleaf Whittier
Fold your wings, my soul,
those wings you had spread wide
to soar to the terrestrial peaks
where the light is most ardent:
it is for you simply to wait
the descent of the Fire --
supposing it to be willing
to take possession of you.