O God, creator of our land, . . . You have also pulled other continents out of the sea. What a wonderful world you have made out of wet mud, and what beautiful men and women! . . . The grace of your creation is like a cool day between rainy seasons. . . . Bless us. Bless our land and people. Bless our forests . . . Bless our fields . . . Bless the waters . . . Be with us in our countries and in all Africa, and in the whole world. Prepare us for the service that we should render.
And, if we are unwilling to practice the gift of contemplation and find time for solitude, we miss so much along the way. Admiral Byrd's journal is filled with the fruits that silence brings:
I took my daily walk at 4 p.m. today in -89 degrees of frost ... I paused to listen to the silence ... The day was dying, the night being born -- but with great peace. Here were imponderable processes and forces of the cosmos, harmonious and soundless. Harmony, that was it! That was what came out of the silence -- a gentle rhythm, the strain of a perfect chord, the music of the spheres...
