Pentecost

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
Were every blade of grass a quill,
Were the world of parchment made,
And every man a scribe by trade,
To write the love
Of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor would the scroll
Contain the whole
Though stretched from sky to sky.

(Opening lines of the piyut of Akdamus, traditionally read on the 1st night of Pentecost or Shavuot, which btw, is tonight.)