O Beloved!
The Superlative of every good,
The Love that needs
No knowledge of face, or form, or speech,
The Love so great we can never touch Thy Reality
But whose touch has realized all things
And Whose knowledge molds life's essence --
Thou only art the Eternally Perfect
And the totality of beauty.
Out of eternity
Thou hast plucked the smallest grain
And called it time --
A speck of dust on Thy robe's hem
Is the material universe --
Thy thought in the space of an eyewink
Comprehendeth the spiritual universe.
O Thou! Who asketh for all we know
Yet givest all we know --
Infinity is not enough for all our praise of Thee,
O Most Adored One!
Origin of man's spirit --
Singular, yet All-Containing --
Though beyond any and all approach.
Thou art the life of every living soul.
(World Order, February 1947)