There is a pattern here in everything, We are not puppets or automatons. Acting out our lives we feel the sting Of forces - from the insects to the bombs.
How can the masses grow sufficiently To receive the Force when clouds of darkness roll Across the skies with instability And emptiness of purpose with death our toll.
Surely there must be a light to come Even in the midst of catastrophe Perhaps with fire or resounding drum Annihilating evil that we may be
One day awakened in our love for Thee And finally become what we must be.
Poems Undated (1727)
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