Toll of the Mighty Bell

We are jerked and pulled as marionettes on strings,

Puppets of an unseen force and fate,

Moved by the karma of long-forgotten deeds,

Our joys our lusts, our anger and our hate,

The offspring of a residue of lives,

Yet more as the growing soul within attests

For with each birth that follows death's long sleep

The psychic being greater light invests.

A memory - a moment in timelessness

Where worlds were by the silent witness viewed

At the cosmic edge where night and day conjoin,

And the quest for the Lord of Life renewed.

The bishop mid his opulent mysteries,

The simple monk in his dark and sombre cell,

The free child-souls who roam and play at ease,

All are called by the toll of the mighty bell.