Poem August 13, 1960 Issue

REGENERATION

Edgar Isaac Newgass

Our dreams die hard.
What though we guard
And cherish them? Or slow or fast
They perish in the fires
Of old desires
At last.

Then through the murk comes stealing
A gleam of light, revealing
Life's grander magnitude.
And we begin to see
The pattern of reality
And find it good.

So erring human will
Is still.
At last we rest.
At peace and free,
In self-existent, spiritual harmony.
How richly blest!

Edgar Isaac Newgass

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"Thou art loosed from thine infirmity"
August 13, 1960
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