Behind The Veil Of Each Night, There

And You Would Accept The Seasons Of Your Heart Just As You Have Always Accepted That Seasons Pass Over Your Fields And You Would Watch With Serenity Through The Winters Of Your Grief.

Everyone Has Experienced That Truth: That Love, Like A Running Brook, Is Disregarded, Taken For Granted; But When The Brook Freezes Over, Then People Begin To Remember How It Was When It Ran, And They Want It To Run Again.

Death Most Resembles A Prophet Who Is Without Honor In His Own Land Or A Poet Who Is A Stranger Among His People.

The Human Heart Cries Out For Help; The Human Soul Implores Us For Deliverance; But We Do Not Heed Their Cries, For We Neither Hear Nor Understand. But The Man Who Hears And Understands We Call Mad, And Flee From Him. Thus The Nights Pass, And We Live In Unawareness; And The Days Greet Us And Embrace Us. But We Live In Constant Dread Of Day And Night.

If The Grandfather Of The Grandfather Of Jesus Had Known What Was Hidden Within Him, He Would Have Stood Humble And Awe-struck Before His Soul.