I have hymns you haven’t heard.
There is an upward soaring
in which I bend close.
You can barely distinguish me
from the things that kneel before me.
They are like sheep, they are grazing.
I am the shepherd on the brow of the hill.
When evening draws them home
I follow after, the dark bridge thudding,
and the vapor rising from their backs
hides my own homecoming.
— Rilke, The Book of Hours I, 40