Hostile Attacks

And when I fell in fitful sleep

I dreamed I heard the angels weep

To see the fiery demon horde

Attack a servant of the Lord.

On this bed of sorrow lies

A spirit broken, with blinded eyes

While all the saints of mercy weep

And on his soul a vigil keep.

The Mother drawing close his head

Prepares again to stay the dread

And fearful presence that descends

To steal the soul for evil ends.

The fledgling aspirant to light

Is rescued from the throes of night,

Morning breaks and day begins

In gratitude and disciplines

Of music, dance and poetry

Composed in an ashram's sanctity

Within these hallowed silent grounds

The Grace supreme his life surrounds.