The Adventure of the Apocalypse

Great wings

Great wings, one white and one of gold

Our dreaming spirit must unfold,

The wing of shadowless purity,

The wing of power that cannot die.

But life gains not this liberty

Unless a wideness ever free

Is the formless depth of what we are,

A mystery standing near and far,

An omnipresence of rapt air,

No need to rush forth anywhere,

An all-supporting breakless peace

That makes the soul of form release

Wings beyond earthly nights and days,

And bears with cool invisible grace

Their waft of gold-white victory:

Godhead is only godhead by

A soar of Self within Self-space.

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