by Robert Gresak
It contains the secret of the ages,
and written upon its indelible pages
is the wisdom of a thousand sages.
Deeply hidden it remains
and never can it contain blemish or stains.
Only when the one concerned obtains
by dint of long, persevering effort the key
will access be granted to its awesome reality.
This mysterious place is not distant
or of no consequence or irrelevant,
it is so very real - so near
and tho' so hidden still feels every joy,
knows instantly every sad tear.
Man himself is the receptacle
and its alter is forever divinely lit,
'tis his God-self, his purest spirit.
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