Walk your walk of lament on a path of praise.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Spring falls over itself
outside my door, the blooms glimpsed
cascading down through rain-soaked windows
in blurred rivulets, streams that taunt
the prisoner to spit and curse
a torrent of her own but that the sun
penetrates the pane and warms the face
lifted up, as if to say, “You are my beloved.”

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God, of thy goodness, give me Thyself;
for Thou art enough for me,
and I can ask for nothing less
that can be full honor to Thee.
And if I ask anything that is less,
ever shall I be in want,
for only in Thee have I all.

Julian of Norwich