And who is He who shines upon mountains,
walks and talks with the prophets of old,
yet stands without tabernacle?
Who is He whom hills and fields adore,
to whom sun defers when light’s of need,
the one true radiance of day?
And who is He who bids mouths be closed,
who commands the demons’ silence,
who climbs down this hill of glory?
Who is He who spans the heights of day
yet descends that He might know the night,
and walks alone to death?
The Consolations of Writing 