O, the weary time of longing,
When my heart with hopes all spent,
Fought the storms so thickly thronging,
Sought the isle of heart's content.
Doubt, despair, and dread assailed it,
And the storms were raging high;
Not a beacon light of hope lit
Up the grief cloud-burdened sky.
Then a wonder in the heaven
Showed a little star above,
And the wonder was the leaven
Of the Mother's thought of Love.
And the star shone higher, brighter,
All around its radiance shed,
And the night grew lighter, lighter,
As I followed where it led.
Led me where in living splendor
Truth unveils the Christ of God,
Here the Love Divine so tender
Is revealed—both staff and rod.
Now, in this pure light's effulgence
All of evil disappears:
No more sin to ask indulgence:
God—the All in All—appears.
And that "little book" the Mother
To a weary world has sent,
Was the star to guide me, brother,
To the isle of heart's content.
