On Coming to the New—Old Land—America

Sleeping memories
Of friends once more to be
Did greet me — sailing o’er the sea, —
Sensing my coming
The Pilgrim Land to adore.
The distant sleeping shore
Lay in the twinkling night,
Dim through the vanished light,
The breeze wafted strong
Strange thoughts
That my brain did throng,
Hopes sweet and richly wrought.

The raven-winged gloom did perch
On the portals of my mind and search
My soul, my strength to awe;
Yet crowds with joy oh, then, I saw
Of phantom friends,
Now come to lend
Their cheer,
And end my fear! 

--Songs of the Soul by Paramhansa Yogananda