The Theory and Practice of Mysticism

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E.P. Dutton, 1918 - Electronic book - 214 pages

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Page 165 - O world invisible, we view thee, O world intangible, we touch thee, O world unknowable, we know thee, Inapprehensible, we clutch thee ! Does the fish soar to find the ocean, The eagle plunge to find the air — That we ask of the stars in motion If they have rumour of thee there? Not where the wheeling systems darken, And our benumbed conceiving soars! — The drift of pinions, would we hearken, Beats at our own clay-shuttered doors. The angels keep their ancient places ; — Turn but a stone, and...
Page 84 - It is that our normal waking consciousness, rational consciousness as we call it, is but one special type of consciousness, whilst all about it, parted from it by the filmiest of screens, there lie potential forms of consciousness entirely different.
Page 165 - The angels keep their ancient places; Turn but a stone and start a wing! 'Tis ye, 'tis your estranged faces, That miss the many-splendoured thing.
Page 163 - A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast. And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again. The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain, And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know.
Page 160 - Speak to Him thou for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can meet — Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet.
Page 166 - tis your estranged faces That miss the many-splendored thing. But (when so sad thou canst not sadder) Cry — and upon thy so sore loss Shall shine the traffic of Jacob's ladder Pitched betwixt Heaven and Charing Cross. Yea, in the night, my Soul, my daughter, Cry, — clinging heaven by the hems: And lo, Christ walking on the water, Not of Gennesareth, but Thames!
Page 164 - Who that hath known these visitations fleet Would strive to make them trite and ritual ? I, that still pray at morning and at eve, Loving those roots that feed us from the past, And prizing more than Plato things I learned At that best academe, a mother's knee, Thrice in my life perhaps have truly prayed, Thrice, stirred below my conscious self, have felt That perfect disenthralment which is God...

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