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A Thought (Poem)

Him that overcometh will make a pillar in the temple of my God; and he shall go no more out.
—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.

The way to obtain a good assurance indeed of our title to Heaven, is not to clamber up to it by a ladder of our own ungrounded persuasions, but to dig as low as hell by humility and self-denial in our own hearts; and though this may seem to be the farthest way about, yet it is indeed the nearest and safest way to it.
—Dr. Ralph Cudworth

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