A Stray Dream.

'Twas in a dream he wandered in that place
And gazed on Destiny's reposeful face,
Grey Destiny, who sat in twilit gloom
Among the shadows of a lofty room.
Thro' one high pane a streak of moonlight wan
Made ghostly white a page it shone upon.
And round the walls, from ceiling unto floor,
Were volumes bound in black; and even more
Were in the dim light seen in heaps around,
And all were thick with dust, he, touching, found.
But nought there was of dust upon that book
Which Destiny bent o'er with pond'ring look,
page 9 Its leaves were freshly cut, its writing clear.
This much the dreamer learnt in drawing near.
Deep awe was in his heart, but there was nought
Of fainting fear nor terror in his thought;
For in each line of Destiny's strong face
He saw a love that cheered the mournful place,
Made the wan light a living, fairer thing,
And the black shadows warm and comforting.
Then, urged by keen desire he nearer drew,
And on the page he read a name he knew,
His own—and underneath, his date of birth,
And then, a written page, his life on earth.

"What is written? Good sir, I pray,
Show me the book and let me see!"
"What is written thyself shall write,
It will not be shown to thee"

"If 'tis written, why should I write?
How write, if I cannot see?"
"The tale of what shall come to pass
Will thy soul teach unto thee.

Writ by the gods when the world began,—
It is not meet that thou should'st see.
What is written thy soul was shown,
It knoweth what is to be.

What is written, as years unfold,
Will thy soul teach unto thee—
Then the words in the book of life
Thou'll write for the world to see."

And then the moonlight brightened into day
The dreamland shadows faded quite away.
The dreamer woke, his dream confused and dim—
But none the less, his way was shown to him.
The bill is made, and he will reck'ning pay
For what must be, will be, till Judgment Day.

—M.L.N.