And scarce for terror could Mac Adam ask
The nature of the scribe’s untimely task.
“Behold, I write,” the vision answered then,
“The names of those who love their fellow men.”
“And pray,” said Adam, with a hopeful grin,
“Your Honor’s honor, am I counted in?”
“Nay,” spake the presence, with a look of grief,
“My task is easy, for the roll is brief;
Look through the M’s, but all in vain, I fear,
You seek your ancient patronymic here.”