The integument of our mortality Is a subtle sheath encompassing the form, A protecting envelope, a shield against The entities and forces that attack And seek to pierce the body or the mind. A bastion of Self-defence they guard and stay The lesser gods that would annihilate Or take delight in human suffering. The trials are real, affecting mind and mood. This world seems poised for great catastrophe Upon the brink of yet another fall Into the oblivion of ages past, Destruction visited upon all forms The life-force gone, the earth in stillness lay And yet survived; she is the chosen home Of destiny, the dwelling-place divine. We must ascend to live upon the heights, Our being sanctified, made whole again, The hour of God is come and calls the soul From out its resting place behind the heart To lead the glorious march towards the Truth.
Poems Undated (1727)
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