Poems

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Not lost in private musings debating different choosings ruminating on offenses roaming through past tenses But occupying till Truth in brilliant splendor wipes out the wan pretender that pleads preoccupation with thoughts that are not His Like the child who occupies himself with what is now— not longing backward not fearing forward— but simply accepting the moment's gift We too can lift our present task above preoccupation and occupy occupy occupy "till I come" DORIS KERNS QUINN.

longing heart cease dead-end search for perfect church real Church is not view-hid it is not hard to find real Church is not stone/people-made or planned by human mind perfect Church design Manual of The Mother Church by Mrs. Eddy.

I will stand and stand and understand! I will not come down from the mount of Spirit! I will remain on my mountain until the last clock falls silent, until the last cross tumbles into dust, until the last nail crumbles into rust! I will have my dominion! I will joyfully be what everyone is eternally— spiritual man! JANE HUELSTER HANSON.

For just too long the problem left me without song. What was needed was firm denial, and soon unyielding trial— vanished/gone— left my Peniel a remembrance of being blessed.

Way beyond that unsure, impure blur that calls itself me, Far outside that fearful, tearful self that seems to be right where I am— There is, in God's own sight, a very precious and delightful child. There is a very dear and happy one whose home, career, and health are shining forth from Spirit's animus of All.

I never felt an exultation; never any day in all my life did I feel lifted higher than the daily round. Selling what men wanted for a price, I was not really living, but moved unstirred, earthbound.

Thank you, God, I am healed! Your truth appears clearer, Love, even nearer, material law, repealed. Like a ring in water, the healing is spreading, widening, heading for hearts that are opening.

With the obtuse vision of a walker in fog— not valley fog, heath fog, exterior weather, but mind fog, storm thoughts, a life clenched in grayness of purpose, years without sunlight or promise of sun— with such vision, with such lack of vision, I heard through the dank weight of numbness a clarion voice. The tight mist fanned loosely for a moment before bleakness compressed me again, but I found myself moving toward it, that voice.

May the whole earth be deluged with light like a sunburst in world thought, filling the horizons everywhere: By whatever name, whatever phrase, in whatever tongue, beyond all stalemate, above all creed— oneness prevails, reality presides, ineluctable Principle governs. May world-awakening unman the mainstays of resistance— the fallacy of many minds, the illogic of self-destiny— transmute strongholds; transpose walls of separation to friendly containments where Love is All-in-all, chains of slavery meld to bonds of unity and affection, and prisons send forth seekers after light.