SPIRITUAL POETRY
THE LAW
The sun may be clouded, yet ever the sun
Will sweep on its course till the cycle is run
And when into chaos the systems are hurled
Again shall the Builder reshaape a new world
Your path may be clouded, uncertain your goal;
Move on, for the orbit is fixed for your soul
And though it may lead into darkness of night
The torch of the Builder shall give it new light
You were, and you will be; know this while you are,
Your spirit has travelled both long and afar.
It came from the Source, to the Source it returns,
The spark that was lighted, eternally burns.
It slept in the jewel, it leaped in the wave,
It roamed in the forest, it rose in the grave.
It took on strange garb's for long aeons of years,
And now in the soul of yourself it apppears.
From body to body your spirit speeds on,
It seeks a new form when the old one is gone;
And the form that it finds is the fabric you wrought
On the loom of the mind, with the fibre of thought.
As dew is drawn upward, in rain to descend,
Your thoughts drift away and in destiny blend.
You cannot escape them; or petty or great,
Or evil, or noble, they fashion your fate.
Somewhere on some planet, sometime and somehow
Your life will reflect all the thoughts of your now.
The law is unerring; no blood can atone;
The structure you rear you must live in alone.
From cycle to cycle, through time and through space.
Your lives with your longings will ever keep pace.
And all that you ask for, and all you desire,
Must come at your bidding, as flames out of fire.
Once list to that voice and all tumult is done;
Your life is the life of the Infinate One.
In the hurrying race you are conscious of pause,
With love for the purpose and love for the cause.
You are your own devil, you are your own God,
You fashioned the paths that your footsteps have trod;
And no one can save you from error or sin;
Until you shall hark to the Spirit within.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain
When you awaken in mornings hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the soft star that shines at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there; I did not die
Anon