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Let not your outward-looking lure you aside to hunt wayward themes; but see to My gracious shedding smile of love that illuminates your universe within and brightens the world without, and those who look upon you shall marvel at the wonder of your glowing. And they, too, shall partake of that light.
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The rolling cloud is My breath; the frost and the feathery snow I jewel. The laughing fields, the peaceful valleys, the sleeping lakes and the dented hills are the throbs of My mighty breast. The beauty of the sun, the softness of shade, the color of the flowers, the rose of a baby's lips, the gold that lurks in the rich plumage of the swift-winged bird are but the light touches of my hands.
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Ye, O My children, are the gifts of My Love unto Myself.
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O My daughter, take that which is placed in your hand. Hurl not back the gift to the giver, lest you call it in vain,—you whose eyes do filmy seem because of their dulness.
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O My son, thy path is blessed and bright, for love you have brought to the heart that loved not.