If I could take your pain away;
for only just a while;
if, with the Master, I held sway;
to cause your face to smile;
If I only held power over peace;
and, like a cloud, it’d descend;
within the soul all tension released;
and such peace would never end.
If only the winds of happiness,
would somehow blow your way;
and gently, your face, caress;
always remaining, to stay.
Fortunately, such is never the case;
the Master never grants such power;
ill winds of fate, all must embrace;
in order to blossom and flower.
Life must learn to handle the weeds;
and be gracious, when confronted;
and tho it may seem evil succeeds;
its frontal attack will be blunted.
Nothing can remove the evil wind;
or eliminate the sands of time;
only, by perfection, will such end;
and Perfection, itself, is thine.
The Master holds all, in His Hands;
creating life, and making it free;
created as Love: given few demands;
only, be what He meant us to be.