John Bannister Tabb

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A rugged stone,
For centuries neglected and alone,
Its destiny unknown.

The tides of Light
Sped o'er it, and the breakers of the night,
In alternating flight.

And it was wet
With twilight dew--the sacramental sweat
That mystic dreams beget.

Here Jacob lay,
And saw the midnight vision drift away
Before the darker day.

Upon the sod
A pillow; then, by countless angels trod,
A stepping-stone to God.

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