they set out for eternity

And wherever the journey led, they carried their gift of radiance.

Gleams of Beauty unfading so entranced their souls,

they heard at night in their dreams angels

singing of bliss and the music of other worlds.

More enchanted, more earnestly they searched in every place, and

yearned for their homeland

the dream of a beloved of matchless excellence, hero or saint or both.

Without pause, they strove on in high, passionate hope;

some mysteries of life they unraveled

as they journeyed apace, and at last obtained the promised happiness.

Lovers of the Light are pledged to a long journey, its end Unseen:

the very roads are proud upon which they journey:

the rhythm of their surging on is Certainty,

and their rank as slaves of the King.

Whoever disdains that rank, disdains his own good fortune,

Exchanging hope for a regret everlasting:

he shall not attain, not ever,

the further horizon of all that is.

Only passionate lovers of the Ideal,

may behold that far horizon,

eternity itself impressed upon their faces,

their names rehearsed in hymns of praise.

They desire life reborn only to be martyred again,

hearts forever surrendered to the Light,

forever remembered in our hearts.

They raise now light-filled eyes,

in their hands translucent beakers held aloft, at ease,

filled to their brim from rivers of Paradise.

having fixed their hearts upon the Light

they set out for eternity.

And wherever the journey led, they carried

their gift of radiance

Gleams of Beauty

unfading so entranced their souls,

they heard at night in their dreams

angels singing of bliss and the music

of other worlds.

More enchanted ,

more earnestly they searched in every place,

and cherished for their homeland the dream

of a beloved of matchless excellence, hero

or saint or both.

Without let our pause

they strove on in high, passionate hope;

some perplexities of life they unravelled

as they journeyed apace, and at last obtained

the promised happiness.

Lovers of the Light

are pledged to a long journey, its end Unseen;

the very roads are proud upon which they go;

the rhythm of their going is Certainty, and their rank

slaves of the King .

Whoever disdains

that rank, disdains his own good fortune,

exchanging hope for a regret everlasting;

he shall not attain, not ever, the further rim

of all that is.

Only the lovers,

passionate lovers of the Ideal, may behold

that far horizon, eternity itself impressed

upon their faces, and their names rehearsed

in hymns of praise.

They desire life

again only to be martyred again, hearts

forever surrendered to the Light, forever

remembered in our hearts. They raise now

light-filled eyes,

in their hands are translucent beakers

held aloft, at ease, filled to the brim from

rivers of Paradise.

***