Dim shadows gather thickly round, and up the misty stair they climb,
The cloudy stair that upward leads to where the closed portals shine,
Round which the kneeling spirits wait the opening of the Golden Gate.
And some with eager longing go, still pressing forward, hand in hand,
And some with weary step and slow, look back where their Beloved stand —
Yet up the misty stair they climb, led onward by the Angel Time.
As unseen hands roll back the doors, the light that floods the very air
Is but the shadow from within, of the great glory hidden there —
And morn and eve, and soon and late, the shadows pass within the gate.