Classic Poem

A CROSS the wide plain of my slumber,
I saw through shadow and gleam,
The souls of mankind without number
Proceed in a pauseless stream.

The fount of their coming was hidden
In a light-suffused mist,
And they marched like soldiers bidden
By a word they could not resist.

They passed into black abysses
Of a fathomless, moonless night,
Abandoning earthly blisses,
Forsaking the noonday's light.

African, Chinese, European,
The several races of man,
Patrician, yeoman, plebeian,
Swift-changing the river ran.

Each nation upbore a banner,
Their many wanderings above,
Inscribed in a mystic manner
With the holy name of Love.

And each passer, though wrinkled and mired,
Whatever his name or his land,
However equipped or attired,
Held a fadeless flower in his hand.

And lo! through the darkness before them
A sudden effulgence glowed,
And I saw beyond them and o'er them
The end of their toilsome road.

They stood on a plain assembled,
That glittered with endless spring,
And over them shone and trembled,
And around them, ring upon ring,

Like an ocean of golden splendor,
Swept the might of the world's utter Love;
And I saw that this was the sender
Of all their life from above.

Then the flower each passer had cherished
Burst forth into lovelier bloom,
And his woes like vapors perished,
That the ardors of morning consume.

I woke in a joyous shiver,
And saw through my window-pane
The sun despoiling his quiver,
And his arrows' golden rain.