As when through sullen storm clouds sunshine falls
Revealing realms beyond the tempest's night,
Where shines the radiant splendor of the light
That floods the heaven's illimitable halls,
Or, in the early morn, a bird's voice calls
To herald by his song, serene and bright,
The coming glory of the dawn, not quite
Apparent yet above the garden walls,

Make us to know the light of Truth, O God,
Which shines through darkened sense, its far-flung ray
A promise and a token of the whole
Of good—the full effulgence of Thy world
Of true ideas and of the perfect day
That constitutes the universe of Soul.

Hazel A. Blackwell

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