Wisdom of the Ages, by George A. Fuller, [1916], at sacred-texts.com
Wisdom of the Ages, by George A. Fuller, [1916], at sacred-texts.com
My soul is an hungered and it lifteth up its voice to the angels, yea, even unto the Infinite, pleading for food such as earth giveth not.
Every oracle and every book in the world faileth to give me the supply my soul needeth.
These all give freely of what they possess, yet my soul hungereth and thirsteth for the food and drink of the higher spheres.
The thirsty trees lick up the waters that fall from the heavens, and their hungry roots draw from Nature's breast sustenance, and they are satisfied.
Yet, oh, God, my spirit is never satisfied with what Nature giveth, no matter how bounteous the supply.
Even the granite rock crumbles to powder
that it may feed the lichen that clings to its bosom.
And the great deeps hold a bounteous supply for all the myriad forms of life that swarm in their caverns.
I thirst, oh, God, for the great draughts of light that flood the upper heavens, and I hunger, oh, God, for the ripe fruitage of the ages.
Let me drink in the light that leaps from star to star, from universe to universe, until every chamber of my soul is flooded with unwonted light and glory.
Let the wisdom of the angels and archangels appease the hunger of my soul.
In the midst of darkness, surrounded by clouds of sable, I cry out for light! I stretch out my hands towards the heavens and I lift up mine eyes that they may behold the glory of Thy creations!
Worlds without number burst upon my vision; suns beyond human calculation flash and flame along the Eternal Ways.
Beneath all is dark, above all is light. Then, oh, my soul, be lifted up into realms celestial!
Let that calmness and peace steal over thee that the world on account of its passion and ignorance fails to receive.
As I cry out, voices from out the silence answer the voiceless cry of the spirit.
As I stretch out my hands the very heavens reach down toward me.
As I lift up mine eyes, lo, the heavens are ablaze with light for my spirit.
Truly may I cry out:
All, all that is, is for me!
The spaces are for me,
The light is for me, and
The Voiceless Silence mine own!
Blessed indeed am I, for all blessings are for me. If one helps my brother or sister, I am likewise helped.
Even in the remotest corner of the world a deed of kindness done unto the humblest of the children of men is done unto me.
Every good act, every good thought, no matter when or where uttered, blesses me.
I am not so narrow as to be blessed only by that which is done directly to me, but so broad that the universe alone is large enough for me, therefore, whatsoever of the good the universe holds touches me somewhere.
In me blend all races!
In me smoulder the loves and the aspirations of every age.
In me, the orator, the poet, the philosopher, the artist, the musician, the seer, the prophet—all either are now or have been expressed.
When I cry out for light, it is not so much
for myself as for others, for the blessing comes not so much in the receiving as in the giving.
Like a crystal reflect all light that comes to thee, and then shall the light of thine own soul become more and more brilliant.