III

THE ANGEL OF A DREAM

The Voice that spoke to me was silvery clear, and fell as it were through the air, dividing space with sweetness.  It was soft and resonant, and the thrill of tenderness within it was as though an angel sang through tears.  Never had I heard anything so divinely pure and compassionate,—­and all my being strove to lift itself towards that supernal height which seemed to be the hidden source of its melodious utterance.

“O Soul, wandering in the region of sleep and dreams!” said the Voice,—­“What is all thy searching and labour worth without Love?  Why art thou lost in a Silence without Song?”

I raised my eyes, seeking for the one who thus spoke to me, but could see nothing.

“In Life’s great choral symphony”—­the Voice continued—­“the keynote of the dominant melody is Love!  Without the keynote there can be no music,—­there is dumbness where there should be sound,—­there is discord where there should be harmony.  Love!—­the one vibrant tone to which the whole universe moves in tune,—­Love, the breath of God, the pulsation of His Being, the glory of His work, the fulfilment of His Eternal Joy,—­Love, and Love alone, is the web and texture and garment of happy Immortality!  O Soul that seekest the way to wisdom and to power, what dost thou make of Love?”

I trembled and stood mute.  It seemed that I was surrounded by solemn Presences whose nearness I could feel but not see, and unknowing who it was that spoke to me, I was afraid to answer.

“Far in the Past, thousands of ages ago,” went on the Voice—­“the world we call the Sorrowful Star was a perfect note in a perfect scale.  It was in tune with the Divine Symphony.  But with the sweep of centuries it has lagged behind; it has fallen from Light into Shadow.  And rather than rise to Light again, it has made of itself a discord opposed to the eternal Harmony.  It has chosen for its keynote Hate,—­not Love!  Each nation envies or despises the other,—­ each man struggles against his fellow-man and grudges his neighbour every small advantage,—­and more than all, each Creed curses the other, blasphemously calling upon God to verify and fulfil the curse!  Hate, not Love!—­this is the false note struck by the pitiful Earth-world to-day, swinging out of all concordance with spherical sweetness!—­Hate that prefers falsehood to truth, malice to kindness, selfishness to generosity!  O Sorrowful Star!—­doomed so soon to perish!—­turn, turn, even in thy last moments, back to the Divine Ascendant before it is too late!”

I listened,—­and a sense of hopeless fear possessed me.  I tried to speak, and a faint whisper crept from my lips.  “Why,”—­I murmured to myself, for I did not suppose anyone could or would hear me—­“why should we and our world perish?  We knew so little at the beginning, and we know so little now,—­is it altogether our fault if we have lost our way?”