What we shall be is written, and we are so.
Heedless of Good or Evil, pen, write on!
By the first day all futures were decided;
Which gives our griefs and pains irrelevancy.

Oh, heart of mine that knoweth all a dream,
Why grieve for ills that are not what they seem?
Bend to the blast and trust thy soul to fate:
What pen has writ may no man’s prayer redeem.

‘Twas writ at first, whatever was to be,
By pen, unheeding bliss or misery.
Yea, writ upon the tablet once for all.
To murmur or resist is vanity.