Though it be so fair, so fair,
Enter, not to tarry there;
Idle tears, your torrent stay--
Beauty, it is consecrate
And can never fade away;
Change it will, be re-create,
Born from narrow things to great."

But the first voice pleaded again. Together they sang, and strangely
enough they harmonized. Not that the celestial utterance lent itself to
the lighter measure, but the nearer song took a softer cadence and
borrowed a new persuasion from the greater. Passionate grew the
pleading, more alluring the radiant retreat. The heart of Atmâ, ever
open to the influence of the good, cried to the solemn voice above for
help.

"Give also light," he said, "that I may see beyond the portal!"

But the sound of his own voice was strange in the land of dreams, and
with that he awoke. It was evening, and he arose and looked at the
silent and frowning cliff, and even passed his hand over its face to
convince himself that he was still awake. A significance attached itself
to his dream, and he pondered it long and wisely. The teachings of the
founder of his Faith came into his mind, and the lesson of his vision
seemed plain. He resolved to trust the conduct of his steps to an unseen
Guidance, and reverently owned that a Benign Presence had watched his
slumbers. As he reflected, a belief grew that this massive rock marked
not only a halting place in his journey, but a chief interval in his
life.