For a year and more the mountain gave me a home.

The fruit of the palm fed my body, prayer my spirit.
One night I walked in the orchard close by the little sea.

'The world is dying.

When wilt thou come?
Why may I not see the redemption, O God ?' So I prayed.

The glassy water was sparkling with stars.
One of them seemed to leave its place, and rise to the surface, where it became a brilliancy burning to the eyes.