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Loves Progress (Poem)

Each promise of the soul has new fruition,
Though ofttimes hidden from our clouded gaze;
Each seeming loss is but a changed condition,
And Love fulfils itself in many ways.

Our infinite hopes and fears alike unheeding,
It looks to where the infinite unrolls;
To sense of its divinity proceeding
Upon the ladder of created souls.

Life of the Highest with the lowest blended:
Unresting and eternal energy!
Symbol and sign, but dimly comprehended—
For did Love cease, then should we cease to be.

Transmuted then the changes that would grieve us—
From each lost joy a new desire we win;
And one by one our angels slowly leave us
In order that archangels may come in.

That Spirit, working under Loves direction,
Through form material, will at last complete
The Unattainable, the wing'd Perfection,
Round which our human hands may never meet.

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C. P. Dickson

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