Poem - Mary Gilmore

The Dream-Mother Came to Me

By Mary Gilmore

1888

The Dream-Mother Came to me,

And she took me by the hand;

She led me on, and onward,

To the end of sea and land.

My soul was under her spell,

As on, with never a word,

With eyes looking out before,

With lips that nor moved nor stirred,

We floated through regions vast,

Where a ling’ring twilight hung,

That was formed of human sighs

From hearts by sorrow wrung.

Yet, ever up through the gloom,

There glimmered a glint of light-

Then I knew someone had striven

To do the thing that was right.

I knew that someone had tried

To lighten another’s load,

That a heart, of hope bereft,

Found Love had brightened his road.

Onward, and onward, and on!

Till I knew not how, or when,

I found I had come before

The mighty Maker of Men.

But where were the pearly gates?

And where the glittering walls

That would keep the sinner out

From the glory of His halls?

*          *          *          *

“Behold, now, O, son of man,

Heav’n hath nor gates nor walls,

Save man’s own faithless faith,

And the sin wherein he fall.”