As when through sullen storm clouds sunshine fallsRevealing realms beyond the tempest's night,Where shines the radiant splendor of the lightThat floods the heaven's illimitable halls,Or, in the early morn, a bird's voice callsTo herald by his song, serene and bright,The coming glory of the dawn, not quiteApparent yet above the garden walls,

Make us to know the light of Truth, O God,Which shines through darkened sense, its far-flung rayA promise and a token of the wholeOf good—the full effulgence of Thy worldOf true ideas and of the perfect dayThat constitutes the universe of Soul.

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