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Calcutta, India

Thou has made endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fellest it ever with fresh life. This little flute of reed thou has carried over hills and dales, and has breathed though it melodies eternally. At the immortal touch of they hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable. Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. ages pass, and still thou poorest, and still thereis room to fill.