Servant and master am I: servant of those dead, and master of those living, through me, spirits immortal, speak the message, that makes the world weep, and laugh, and wonder and worship.
I tell the story of the love, the story of Hate, the story that saves, and the story that damns. I am the incense, upon which prayers float to Heaven. I am the smoke which palls over the field of battle, where men lie dying: with me on their lips.
I am close to the marriage alter, and when the graves open, I stand nearby, I call the wanderer home, I rescue the soul from the depths, I open the lips of lovers, and through me, the dead whisper to the living.
One I serve, as I serve all: and the King, I make my slave, as easily as I subject his slaves, I speak the birds of the air, the insects of the field, the crash of waters, on rock-ribbed shores, the sighing of the wind in the trees, and I am even heard by the soul that knows me, in the clatter of wheels, on city streets.
I know no brother, yet all men are my brothers: I am the father of the best that is in me: I am of them, and they are of me . . . . . . . . . . for, I am the instrument of God.
