Classic Poem

I thought; These multitudes we hold in mind—
This host of souls redeemed—
Out of the abysm of the ages came—
Out of the spirit of man—devised or dreamed.

I thought; To the Invisible I am blind;
No angels tread my nights with feet of flame;
No mystery is mine—
No whisper from that world beyond my sense.

I think; If through some chink in me could shine
But once—O but one ray
From that all-hallowing and eternal day,
Asking no more of Heaven I would go hence.