With closed eyes, I sit in the temple of night and worship Thee.
The sunlight, revealing a million alluring things, has vanished.
One by one, I have closed the doors of my senses, lest the fragrance
of the rose, or the song of the nightingale, distract my love from
Thee. I am alone in this dark, dark temple. I have left everything,
but where art Thou? Darkness is haunting; but, unafraid, I am groping,
seeking, crying for Thee. Wilt Thou leave me alone? Come, show Thyself!
The door of my memory swings open. Throbbingly thrilled, my heart
looks for Thee, but I find Thee not. Halt! Ye throng of a million
thoughts and experiences past! Come not into my sacred temple. I
close the bursting, thought-pressed door and run everywhere to find
Thee. Where art Thou?
Darkness deepens, and as I sit still, in anguish of despair, I behold
a little taper of concentration burning within me. I stand up, and
madly rush through the dimly lighted temple—the farther I go,
the deeper grows the gloom. I clasp the empty darkness in hope of
seizing Thee. Finding Thee not, I return again, and see the taper
dimly burning.
I sing outwardly a loud prayer. My large teardrops, and my strong
gusts of prayer almost extinguish the taper. I will pray no more
with words nor rush or run about in the temple of Stygian darkness,
nor drown the taper with my tears. I will sit still, and command
my breath to make no sound. I rebuke my boisterous love for Thee.
The taper of meditation burns brighter now.
O, how maddening! I cannot worship Thee with words, but only with
wistful yearning. Brighter the light grows: I behold Thee now. Thou
art I. I worship Thee.
As night hides everything, I will worship Thee in hidden silence.
I am glad with the joy of all minds. I will use the screen of the
night to hide myself from the tempting things of the day.
O Night, when I am worried, throw thy veil of silent darkness around
me. Create a dark temple for me wherever I go, that I may invoke
and call Him, whom I love, at any time, anywhere, everywhere.
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