"That's just what I think.

One can see better from the side!" And Miron, paying no attention to his words, spoke softly, as though of some great mystery, known only to him, the pilgrim: "The thick slumbering forests around you will start to rustle in sweet voices about the wisdom of the Lord; God's little birds will sing before you of His holy glory, and the grasses of the steppe will burn incense to the Holy Virgin." The pilgrim's voice now rose and quivered from excess of emotion, now sank to a mysterious whisper.

He seemed as though grown younger; his eyes beamed so confidently and clearly, and all his face was radiant with the happy smile of a man who has found expression for his joy and was delighted while he poured it forth.
"The heart of God throbs in each and every blade of grass; each and every insect of the air and of the earth, breathes His holy spirit.

God, the Lord, Jesus Christ, lives everywhere! What beauty there is on earth, in the fields and in the forests! Have you ever been on the Kerzhenz?
An incomparable silence reigns there supreme, the trees, the grass there are like those of paradise." Foma listened, and his imagination, captivated by the quiet, charming narrative, pictured to him those wide fields and dense forests, full of beauty and soul-pacifying silence.
"You look at the sky, as you rest somewhere under a little bush, and the sky seems to descend upon you as though longing to embrace you.

Your soul is warm, filled with tranquil joy, you desire nothing, you envy nothing.