In life there is so much of wonder.
Every morning near our shore
Swims by an unknown singer.
Every morning slowly from behind the mist
Moves a light boat and
A new song always rings.
And as always the singer
Is hiding behind the next crag.
And it seems to us we shall never
Know who he is—this
Singer—nor whereto he is directing his path
Every morning. And to whom
Does he sing always the new song?
Oh, what hope fills
The heart and to whom does he sing?
– Nicholas Roerich, 1920