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As the Moon rose and the hour grew late,
The day help on a Coconut estate raked up the dry leaves that fell dead from the trees,
Which they burned in a pile by the lake.
The Beetle King summoned his men, and from the top of the Rhododendron stem:
"Calling all volunteers who can carry back here, the Great Mystery's been lit once again."
--
The King Beetle on a Coconut Estate

 

Aaron Weiss

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Late at night
I drift away -
I can hear you calling,
and my name
is in the rain,
leaves on trees whispering,
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The "great things" are nothing less than that she became the Mother of God, in which work so many and such great good things are bestowed upon her as pass man's understanding. For on this there follows all honor, all blessedness, and her unique place in the whole of mankind, among whom she has no equal, namely, that she had a child by the Father in Heaven, and such a child. She herself is unable to find a name for this work, it is too exceedingly great; all she can do is break out in the fervent cry: "They are great things," impossible to describe or define. Hence men have crowded all her glory into a single word, calling her the Mother of God. No one can say anything greater of her or to her, though he had as many tongues as there are leaves on the trees, or grass in the fields, or stars in the sky, or sand by the sea. It needs to be pondered in the heart, what it means to be the Mother of God.

 

Martin Luther