God, the soul of our souls, is not a mere hearsay
Not a Japanese vase, to, in a corner, quaintly lay
God is much more a man than any man of our life
Or closer than any woman, mother, sister or wife
He, She, is the supreme person of all personalities
He, She is the core of `I, the source of all our vanities
God is He, She, call as you like, He’s infinite
Yet so acute His ears, can hear the footfall of a mite
She is the living power-house of love, which overfills
All these little piggy box loves which, to us, life bills
He seems distant, abstract, so is ocean from afar
But as you approach, hear waves washing ashore
Then vivid 'fore your eyes splashing you gaily
So will God be, if you inch towards Him daily
God the Power house
Fills all our piggy bank loves
Takes us in Her folds
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