Poems

When spiritual intuitions from Soul are heard, We become original thinkers in the real sense of the word. And oh when these angels are obeyed , What a heaven for ourselves is made! MAXINE LE PELLEY.

How gently he restored her! He merely touched her hand, and she arose and cared for them; yet what depth of consecration preluded that kind act. Such piercing clarity of truth suffused his altitude of thought that error's counterfeiting could not choose but yield.

Well, self—you say you're faithful. What is your faith full of? Is it filled with holy trust, never doubting nor afraid? Is it filled? Does your faith know God to be the one good cause and are you free in turning over all to Him alone? Is your faith full? When persecution screams at you with threat of hatred/illness/fear is your faith clear? Know that God it is that gives you faith! Be the pure witness of His care.

Thank you, Father Mother, for helping me to see more and more of the love of Love— total peace that truly "passeth all understanding" * and reaches every nook and cranny! Always, ever constant, divine Love remains: unwavering star, unchanging light. And, oh, how we do grow and grow into the knowing of it! * Philippians 4:7 E.

When was it that the morning stars sang together? When was it that the sons of God shouted for joy? Eons ago? Centuries ago? Long years past? In a place distant? Yes, but also here and now, In this instant of eternity, Of eternity in which time has no part, In this instant in which Each of us can know, Can shout with joy, "I, in my true being, Am God's own child, His very likeness here and now, And eternal life And health and peace Are ever mine. " WILLIAM L.

I am grateful to see for miles beyond my window, but I long to see even farther. I am thankful for the spiritual understanding I have gained, but help me, dear God, to see beyond the earthly scene — beyond weakness to strength beyond sorrow to joy beyond tumult to calm beyond belief to understanding beyond resentment to love beyond pride to humility beyond mortality to immortality beyond earth to heaven.

I'd gone fishing for healing, Took great bait along, Armed myself with books and references, And threw out the nets. Nothing.

What do I sacrifice when I praise? When, with joy-packed voice, I raise my thoughts, my love, my life? Why, the sacrifice is this: give up gloom for bliss give up wrong for right give up dark for light. (Oh, give up , mortality! You can give me nothing, so turn yourself in— sickness, sorrow, sin.

Repetition has not (somehow I think you'll agree) the variety of Soul, the uplift of Spirit's buoyancy— is not a spiral of continuous ascending, but only a (vicious) circle. It is the recurrent resort of the hypnotist, like the catchy phrase from a commercial echoing in thought till any association with the original content is lost.

I hear a language of infinite caring. Words that are acts— small deeds shaped softly out of the heart of Love.