"Mother of mine, beyond the sombre grip
Of time art Thou veerless and ever free.But thy Grace of love compels thy Blessing-Hand
To use my tiny beats of ecstasy,Each supernal work of thine begins and ends
With my puny, feeble sound's tick infinite.O who can measure save Thou my rapture strange?
Thy Grace my only breath through eternity.""My child, I am for all, and all I use.
I guide all souls and things to my highest Fire.But none can dare to say I stand in need,
For I alone save my core and the world entire." ```From:Sri Chinmoy,The Mother of the Golden All, Agni Press, 1974
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