I saw my words drop, pebble-like, down deep
Into his inmost mind, and there they lay,
While he, with careful quiet, shaped response,
And then, abstract, as to himself, replied:—
“’Tis speaking well, and yet not speaking well!
For in the web of life are golden threads—
And in the sky of life are brilliant stars—
And on the sea of life are favoring gales—
Or we should wither all as flowers in drought.
He who doth pilot the great universe,