A poem by Rainer Maria Rilke for the Feast of Christ the King:
[I find you, Lord, in all Things and in all]
I find you, Lord, in all Things and in all
my fellow creatures, pulsing with your life;
as a tiny seed you sleep in what is small
and in the vast you vastly yield yourself.
The wondrous game that power plays with Things
is to move in such submission through the world:
groping in roots and growing thick in trunks
and in treetops like rising from the dead.
– Rainer Maria Rilke, THE BOOK OF HOURS