This frail vessel thou emptiest again and aagain,and fillest it ever with fresh life. This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.... Thy infinite gifts come to me only on those very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest,and still there is room to fill. -Rabindranath Tagore,Gitanjali