Poem August 24, 1899 Issue

Awake, Mortal Dreamer

BY BERT POOLE

PROUD , mortal man, that thinkest art awake,
But still in sleep art dreaming daily on;
Nor mov'st thyself to holy treasures take,
Nor bid'st mesmeric slumber to be gone,
Thou dost profess to be god of life,
And goest forth to deeds in sight of all;
With sweat of face thou pantest in the strife,
Not knowing that thy pride must have a fall.

One touch of Love Divine would waken thee,
But oft as Angel finger seeks to place
His mystic touch to set thy spirit free,
As oft is beaten back from off thy face.

Wilt thou be whole? Thou often sayest "yes,"
But in thy dream of self, dost not allow
The soothing cup of cheer to closely press
Thy lips, nor LOVE to smooth thy troubled brow.

But thou art not a god and cannot be;
For only One is Good—the Perfect Mind.
Let not false sense continue claiming thee,
But know in Truth, perfection thou wilt find.

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