HOLY PURPOSE

The year had reached its primeAs men count time.I stood upon a summit vast—A prospect pastAll telling stretched away,Unfolding to bright dayInfinity of bloom.The sweet perfumeFrom countless tiny flowersPervaded all.

The hoursSlid by unheeded.Each floweret needed!Each child of God, complete,Like heather bell so sweet,Though seeming small,Essential to supreme and infinite All!So you and I—and all Mind's glorious whole—Shall bloom, shine forth, reflect the reign of Soul.

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THE SIMPLICITY OF REALITY
June 23, 1951
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