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          (Excerpt From Paristieme)
          by Jeanne Fuller

          The greatest mind
          Cast the perfect mold
          Circled in design.
          Hand touching hand
          The pattern holds.
          Heart touching heart
          Completes the mold.

          In this round
          Do we belong
          Where the touch of love
          Is the spirit's song

          The matchless circle
          Widens and renews,
          No distortion
          Or irregular proportion
          Will break or bend
          The line that God intends

          As hand touches hand
          An inner strength arises
          Upheld by infinite command.

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Document last modified on: 05/04/1997

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