Classic Poem

A PERFECT day, with clear, unclouded skies,
And mountains piled up softly, fold on fold,
And meadows basking in the sunshine's gold,
And blossoms tinted with a hundred dyes.
Beyond the sea more mountain peaks arise,
Fair Santa Cruz and Santa Rosa bold,
And in the far-off distance I behold
San Miguel stand, before my wondering eyes.

So to the inner sight some days there come
Of perfect vision, when to earnest prayer
Is granted some brief glimpse of our true home.
Then come the fogs and mists that cloud our faith
And roll across the ocean we call death,
To hide the land we know is shining there.