He

A man stood before me, after I fell into a slumbered sleep,
His garments and hair, were white as a sheep.
As I looked around, to see what I could see;
People before Him; Hundreds and thousands; On their knees.
It was neither cold nor hot, in this unusual place;
This man; He stood in the air; Is this, "His Grace?"
I felt no fear, as if my soul were free, He is, who he is;
But, He, is not me!
As a man, I had not repented, nor prepared for this;
Yet, there was sorrow and hurt, in my heart, Not bliss.
If this were not a dream; Is there such a place, that exists?
As a man who has sinned; What is the meaning of all this?
Off to His right, appeared to be a throne and a brilliant glow;
What is all of this radiance? I do not know!
His right arm reached out, pointing face to face; Streaks of white
lightening, from his finger-tips, would race. I was observing all things;
Standing above, to His left; All of a sudden, something struck me, upon my heart and chest From where it came or what it was, I cannot say.
I awoke! Was this a dream, I had this day? Who is He? Should I pray?
His face! I shall remember, until my dying day.

by Johnny Bruce Grinols

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