It came to me watching the waves. It was only when, wind-driven, they smashed in foaming glory on the pebbled shore or crashed in fountained spray against the concrete posts, that their strength and beauty were revealed. Beyond they were only brackish, sludge coloured, waters. Then, transformed to gleaming white, they made music, flung their arms to heaven, a cause for exclamations of wonder at their magnificence and glory. Even so I have seen in life those wind-driven, flung upon the rocks of despair, show forth strength and glory, soul transformed to purest white.
Song Bird Songs 