First Truths.

From: Poems (1844)
Author: Christopher Pearse Cranch
Published: Carey and Hart 1844 Philadelphia



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.


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