Start from perfection, as of now.
Not one day, in the dim uncertain future.
"Beloved, now are we the sons of God."
Walk not the dreary road of feeble mortal
Waiting doubtfully to become immortal;
But eagle-strong and Spirit-powered, spread wings
For natural habitat of Life's environs.
Even eaglet, aerie-high, must choose
To use his freedom, learn to fly.
We must develop spiritually from Spirit.
Spurn matter—truly there's no future in it.
Each spiritual intuition felt within
Cherish and nourish into full fruition.
Identify with man of God's creating—
Cry "Abba, Father" and make good the claim
In Christly ways of loving-kindness moving,
With quiet ambition putting off the mortal.
The puny me, the egotistic I,
Winding wormlike through earth's petty debris
Will never make the skies. But heaven lies
About the eagle, and the steady sun
Beckons him on.
So follow onward, upward, God's loved son,
More conscious by the minute of your birthright;
More firm and trustful at each point of progress,
Freer for every matter-weight surrendered,
Stronger for every adverse wind encountered.
Here? Hereafter? Who adjudicates
As patient heart attains full comprehension
In meekness of ascension?