THERE fell on me a dream when days were gray,
And Hope had left me there to grope alone
Amid the silence of an unknown way
Vaulted with night and paved with barren stone,
Wherein such awful stillness held the air,
’Twere comfort but to breathe one’s own despair.
Till in my terror called I Him, who bore
The whole world’s sin upon His sinless soul,
Saying:—“O mighty Heart, whose Godhead wore,
E’en as a garment, all our pain and dole,
Touch Thou my soul with fire; and let there be
Some meed of Godhead even unto me!”
Then from the purple dark I saw arise,
Silent, the pale form of the Nazarene,
With deathless light of message in His eyes,
And that vast human pity in His mien,
Purer than purest depths of summer skies,
Not less unfathomed and not less serene.
“Brother,” He answered, “Wilt thou call to Me
As to a God and worship where I tread?
Cold were the splendour of My victory
If, dowered with Godhead, I for man had bled,
Who fell, a warrior battling in the van,
To prove to men what man can do for man.”
“For thro’ all Ages, on untrodden ways,
Heart-sick and weary in the desperate fight,
Earth shall bring forth the harvest of her days—
Her strong deliverers leading to the light.
And all who follow Truth and who have trod
Her bitter pathways are the Sons of God!”