O, divine clarity on the child’s brow –
its angel sees the Father in the Heavens.
And the light which streams from the saint’s eyes is darkness compared with
the peace resting on the child’s brow, the divine peace.
And the halo glowing around the saint’s head isn’t as clear and large
as the crown which crowns a human child the first few years.
And the earth and the flowers and the stones speak
to the child in their own languages,
and the child answers and babbles in return
in the language of creation.
And God is hidden in the smallest flower
and all things preach his name.
Human hearts expelled by the Father
don’t know how close to them he lives.