Within the hushed, dense darkness, where you stand,
Lonely, afraid, with thought bowed to the grass;
Blind to unceasing light throughout the land
Until the conjurers of error pass,
There is a gentle stir—softer than wings—
A healing presence calls your name: Awake,
O captive child of Zion! Hark! He sings
Of high, immortal blessings you may take.
The veil's aside. Behold what Love supplies:
Mind's light to flood your thought with light divine;
Eternal joy for raiment. Come! Arise!
The Christ is here with primal loaves and wine.
