And so the crested wave doth rise again,
and crashing, falls upon the sands of time
Its crested foam, a flame of white,
its countless bubbles,
each a life – lived one brief span
And formed from out the countless seas
of past – live one brief time – then gone again.

And from the substance of itself, reformed
anew – and thus these waves do form;
Each one an age, and formed from out the
depths where throb the countless wings of Heaven
Each beating with its pulse – eternally a song;
A song unheard, yet deep within the hearts of all.

This pulse beats steady with the Light that leads
all men from out the crested wave,
which beats so restlessly upon the sands of time

And leading him thus forth, will show the Shining Way
A way as yet untrod, nor is it marked for any man
This path that leads him up and on,
and far away, the ocean’s din, thus fades –
The afterlife becomes the hinterland.

The newer life so reaches out,
like mother’s arms and thus enfolds
And then the Radiant rainbowed hues
of Heaven become the texture;
Its texture thus becomes its Way of Life –
its warp and woof
A pattern woven with the stars –
a background radiant.

by Ernest L. Norman

Excerpt from The Anthenium