In Sleep

I dreamt (no "dream" awake--a dream indeed) A wrathful man was talking in the park: "Where are the Higher Powers, who know our need And leave us in the dark?

"There are no Higher Powers; there is no heart In God, no love"--his oratory here, Taking the paupers' and the cripples' part, Was broken by a tear.

And then it seemed that One who did create Compassion, who alone invented pity, Walked, as though called, in at that north-east gate, Out from the muttering city;

Threaded the little crowd, trod the brown grass, Bent o'er the speaker close, saw the tear rise, And saw Himself, as one looks in a glass, In those impassioned eyes.