Warmth and light, buzzing bumblebees, wheat ears and grasses,
Azure skies — of high summer the birth…
To his prodigal son will the Lord say: «Confess, pray —
Have you known true contentment on earth?»
And forgetting all else save the golden and endless
Fields of wheat, the sereneness and peace,
I will weep, and, my words choked by sweet tears of gladness,
Thankful fall at those merciful knees
