—Revelation iii. 12.
Beyond the pen of mortal men
The mystic Temple stands,
In vision clear its walls appear—
A House not made with hands.
Each pillar there the spirit fair
Of those who upward trod,
Who did not fail from lowest scale
To reach at last to God.
To crown each life of toil and strife
A time of peace is given,
And souls may come like children home
To rest awhile in heaven;
But those who still with earnest will
To perfect Love aspire,
After brief stay must pass away
And rise from high to higher.
No memory clings of bygone things—
We wake, as on a stair,
And only know, above, below,
That many more are there.
Sleep ever lies about our eyes
"As night in fir tree's bough."
We can but move in faith and love,
In the eternal now.
In circling line to heights divine
The striving soul ascends,
While each new birth from heaven to earth
Its needed lesson lends:
Until complete, for service meet,
Freed from desire and doubt,
Ended its quest, it gains its rest,
And shall no more go out.
—Dr. Ralph Cudworth