Disciples Among Seers

He who is awake within our sleep

Knocks gently at the prison-doors of mind

Reminding us of promises to keep

To free the soul, the shroud of fate unwind.

Drugged though we be in matter's giant swoon,

We hear the muffled voice, a glint perceive

That makes of night a brightness as the noon,

His words attend: "I come, do not grieve".

For we shall wake to shore the knots of time

And cleave the chains that bind us to the past,

Admitted to a deep and vast sublime,

The reign of truth where life with love is cast.

Nor shall we turn again to face the night

Of ignorance that tied us to our fears,

Our petty gains, this sad and human plight,

But walk in day, disciples among seers.