Classic Poem

FIRST TRUTHS.

They come to me at night, but not in dreams,
Those revelations of realities;
Just at the turning moment ere mine eyes
Are closed to sleep, they come — clear sudden gleams,
Brimfull of truth like drops from heaven's deep streams
They glide into my soul. Entranced in prayer,
I gaze upon the vision shining there,
And bless the Father for these transient beams.
The trite and faded forms of Truth then fall.
I look into myself, and all alone
Lie bared before the Eternal All-in-all;
Or wandering forth in spirit, on me thrown
A magic robe of light, I roam away
To the true vision-land, unseen by day.