Her arms


Two are the arms, the deathless armours of love

To cove the dying souls from the stabs of fear;

Ecstasy's rain from the cloudless source above

They bring, the rock of massive pain to tear.

At each hush-gap with stupendous bliss they declare,

"O marvel seraphs of Mother's immaculate Breath,

Decreed are you to rise, to wing, to dare

And march across the giant breast of Death." ```

From:Sri Chinmoy,The Mother of the Golden All, Agni Press, 1974
Sourced from https://srichinmoylibrary.com/mga