Oh, the beauty and the splendor
Of the wondrous works of God,
Truth revealing Love's pure healing
From the fears and pains of sense,
From the dark clouds, drear and dense.
How it calms the thought of sorrow,
Of all strifes and sins and woes;
Of that dread of the to-morrow—
One of mortals' worst of foes!
From the false sense of creation
We must turn to Love divine;
There we see our true relation
To our Father-Mother, Mind.
There we see in Love's reflection
Brotherhood and man's perfection.
Comes the Christ, Truth, to each mortal,
As from sense he turns away,
Scattering every cloud of darkness,
Ushering in eternal day.
