THY PLACE

So often one has asked, "Where is my place?"Seeking, it seems, a special niche somewhereFashioned by human hands;Not found by either slow or quickened pace,Not manifested here, nor over there,On clay or sea-washed sands.Then, as one silences the human will.Lifting thought even beyond the gilt peakOf miscalled heart's desire,Waiting, listening, the voice that is stillAnd small will soon be audible, will speakThose truths that draw one higher.

Secure forever in the perfect Mind,Where man expresses love unceasingly,Where is sufficient graceFor all, and no fear enters in to bindOr to enslave, for all are loved and free,There is thy real place.

NEXT IN THIS ISSUE
Article
THE SENSES OF SPIRIT ARE AT PEACE
September 11, 1948
Contents

We'd love to hear from you!

Easily submit your testimonies, articles, and poems online.

Submit