The autumn sun glistens on fluttering leaves.
Wild blooms wrap white picket-posts, and the empty child-swing sways in the gentle breeze.
Lord, loosen in me the hold of visible things;
Help me to walk by faith and not by sight;
I would, through thickest veils and coverings,
See into the chambers of the living light.
Lord, in the land of things that swell and seem,
Help me to walk by the other light supreme,
Which shows thy facts behind man's vaguely hinting dream.
~George MacDonald, The Diary of an Old Soul