The Feet of the Messenger by Yehoash (Solomon Blumgarten)
For a number of years a fond, beautiful dream had been weaving in my thoughts. In a hidden crevice of the soul a seed had taken root and was quietly, modestly burgeoning. Amid the confusion and the tumult of a hundred interests, of labors and ambitions, that seed had remained unobserved. Yet often, in reposeful moments a breath would arise, wafting a sweet fragrance into my face, intoxicating, filling the spirit with sorrow and boundless yearning.
The day arrived when the plant burst all its buds and blossomed forth, spreading and unfolding and enlacing into itself all my thoughts and my most hidden desires. And from that day Eretz Yisroel became for me a luminuous island beckoning at the end of a long, dark journey. Everything good, bright, and beautiful was there upon that island, and I must reach it as soon as possible. Should I ever reach it, all doubts would be resolved, all queries answered, all darknesses illuminated. A new life would begin. A new spring, a new youth, with new, firm beliefs.