VII. A CAMEL-DRIVER

Quoth an inquirer, "Praise the Merciful!My thumb which yesterday a scorpion nipped—(It swelled and blackened)—lo, is sound again!By application of a virtuous rootThe burning has abated: that is well.But now methinks I have a mind to ask,—Since this discomfort came of culling herbsNor meaning harm,—why needs a scorpion be?Yea, there began, from when my thumb last throbbed,Advance in question-framing, till I askedWherefore should any evil hap to man—From ache of flesh to agony of soul—Since God's All-mercy mates All-potency?Nay, why permits he evil to himself—Man's sin, accounted such? Suppose a worldPurged of all pain, with fit inhabitant—Man pure of evil in thought, word, and deed—Were it not well? Then, wherefore otherwise?Too good result? But he is wholly good!Hard to effect? Ay, were he impotent!Teach me, Ferishtah!"Said the Dervish: "Friend,My chance, escaped to-day, was worse than thine:I, as I woke this morning, raised my head,Which never tumbled but stuck fast on neck.Was not I glad and thankful!""How could headTumble from neck, unchopped—inform me first!Unless we take Firdausi's tale for truth,Who ever heard the like?""The like might hapBy natural law: I let my staff fall thus—It goes to ground, I know not why. Suppose,Whene'er my hold was loosed, it skyward sprangAs certainly, and all experience provedThat, just as staves when unsupported sink,So, unconfined, they soar?""Let such be law—Why, a new chapter of sad accidentsWere added to humanity's mischance,No doubt at all, and as a man's false stepNow lays him prone on earth, contrariwise,Removal from his shoulder o£ a weightMight start him upwards to perdition. Ay!But, since such law exists in just thy brain,I shall not hesitate to doff my capFor fear my head take flight.""Nor feel reliefFinding it firm on shoulder. Tell me, now!What were the bond 'twixt man and man, dost judge,Pain once abolished? Come, be true! Our Shah—How stands he in thy favor? Why that shrug?Is not he lord and ruler?""Easily!His mother bore him, first of those four wivesProvided by his father, such his luck:Since when his business simply was to breatheAnd take each day's new bounty. There he stands—Where else had I stood, were his birth-star mine?No, to respect men's power, I needs must seeMen's bare hands seek, find, grasp and wield the swordNobody else can brandish! Bless his heart,'Tis said, he scarcely counts his fingers right!""Well, then—his princely doles! from every feastOff go the feasted with the dish they ateAnd cup they drank from,—nay, a change besidesOf garments" ..."Sir, put case, for service done,—Or best, for love's sake,—such and such a slaveSold his allowance of sour lentil-soupTo herewith purchase me a pipe-stick,—nay,If he, by but one hour, cut short his sleepTo clout my shoe,—that were a sacrifice!""All praise his gracious bearing.""All praise mine—Or would praise did they never make approachExcept on all-fours, crawling till I bade,'Now that with eyelids thou hast touched the earth,Come close and have no fear, poor nothingness!'What wonder that the lady-rose I wooAnd palisade about from every wind,Holds herself handsomely? The wilding, now,Ruffled outside at pleasure of the blast,That still lifts up with something of a smileIts poor attempt at bloom" ..."A blameless life,Where wrong might revel with impunity—Remember that!""The falcon on his fist—Reclaimed and trained and belled and beautifiedTill she believes herself the Simorgh's match—She only deigns destroy the antelope,Stoops at no carrion-crow: thou marvellest?"So be it, then! He wakes no love in theeFor any one of divers attributesCommonly deemed love-worthy. All the same,I would he were not wasting, slow but sure,With that internal ulcer" ..."Say'st thou so?How should I guess? Alack, poor soul! But stay—Sure in the reach of art some remedyMust lie to hand: or if it lurk,—that leechOf fame in Tebriz, why not seek his aid?Couldst not thou, Dervish, counsel in the case?""My counsel might be—what imports a pangThe more or less, which puts an end to oneOdious in spite of every attributeCommonly deemed love-worthy?""Attributes?Faugh!—nay, Ferishtah,—'tis an ulcer, think!Attributes, quotha? Here 's poor flesh and blood,Like thine and mine and every man's, a preyTo hell-fire! Hast thou lost thy wits for once?""Friend, here they are to find and profit by!Put pain from out the world, what room were leftFor thanks to God, for love to Man? Why thanks,—Except for some escape, whatever the style,From pain that might be, name it as thou mayst?Why love,—when all thy kind, save me, suppose,Thy father, and thy son, and ... well, thy dog,To eke the decent number out—we fewWho happen—like a handful of chance starsFrom the unnumbered host—to shine o'erheadAnd lend thee light,—our twinkle all thy store,—We only take thy love! Mankind, forsooth?Who sympathizes with their general joyFoolish as undeserved? But pain—see God'sWisdom at work!—man's heart is made to judgePain deserved nowhere by the common fleshOur birthright,—bad and good deserve alikeNo pain, to human apprehension! Lust,Greed, cruelty, injustice crave (we hold)Due punishment from somebody, no doubt:But ulcer in the midriff! that brings fleshTriumphant from the bar whereto arraignedSoul quakes with reason. In the eye of GodPain may have purpose and be justified:Man's sense avails to only see, in pain,A hateful chance no man but would avertOr, failing, needs must pity. Thanks to GodAnd love to man,—from man take these away,And what is man worth? Therefore, Mihrab Shah,Tax me my bread and salt twice over, claimLaila my daughter for thy sport,—go on!Slay my son's self, maintain thy poetryBeats mine,—thou meritest a dozen deaths!But—ulcer in the stomach,—ah, poor soul,Try a fig-plaster: may it ease thy pangs!"So, the head aches and the limbs are faint!Flesh is a burden—even to you!Can I force a smile with a fancy quaint?Why are my ailments none or few?In the soul of me sits sluggishness;Body so strong and will so weak:The slave stands fit for the labor—yes,But the master's mandate is still to seek.You, now—what if the outside clayHelped, not hindered the inside flame?My dim to-morrow—your plain to-day,Yours the achievement, mine the aim?So were it rightly, so shall it be!Only, while earth we pace togetherFor the purpose apportioned you and me,Closer we tread for a common tether.You shall sigh, "Wait for his sluggish soul!Shame he should lag, not lamed as I!"May not I smile, "Ungained her goal:Body may reach her—by and by"?

Quoth an inquirer, "Praise the Merciful!

My thumb which yesterday a scorpion nipped—

(It swelled and blackened)—lo, is sound again!

By application of a virtuous root

The burning has abated: that is well.

But now methinks I have a mind to ask,—

Since this discomfort came of culling herbs

Nor meaning harm,—why needs a scorpion be?

Yea, there began, from when my thumb last throbbed,

Advance in question-framing, till I asked

Wherefore should any evil hap to man—

From ache of flesh to agony of soul—

Since God's All-mercy mates All-potency?

Nay, why permits he evil to himself—

Man's sin, accounted such? Suppose a world

Purged of all pain, with fit inhabitant—

Man pure of evil in thought, word, and deed—

Were it not well? Then, wherefore otherwise?

Too good result? But he is wholly good!

Hard to effect? Ay, were he impotent!

Teach me, Ferishtah!"

Said the Dervish: "Friend,My chance, escaped to-day, was worse than thine:I, as I woke this morning, raised my head,Which never tumbled but stuck fast on neck.Was not I glad and thankful!"

Said the Dervish: "Friend,

My chance, escaped to-day, was worse than thine:

I, as I woke this morning, raised my head,

Which never tumbled but stuck fast on neck.

Was not I glad and thankful!"

"How could headTumble from neck, unchopped—inform me first!Unless we take Firdausi's tale for truth,Who ever heard the like?"

"How could head

Tumble from neck, unchopped—inform me first!

Unless we take Firdausi's tale for truth,

Who ever heard the like?"

"The like might hapBy natural law: I let my staff fall thus—It goes to ground, I know not why. Suppose,Whene'er my hold was loosed, it skyward sprangAs certainly, and all experience provedThat, just as staves when unsupported sink,So, unconfined, they soar?"

"The like might hap

By natural law: I let my staff fall thus—

It goes to ground, I know not why. Suppose,

Whene'er my hold was loosed, it skyward sprang

As certainly, and all experience proved

That, just as staves when unsupported sink,

So, unconfined, they soar?"

"Let such be law—Why, a new chapter of sad accidentsWere added to humanity's mischance,No doubt at all, and as a man's false stepNow lays him prone on earth, contrariwise,Removal from his shoulder o£ a weightMight start him upwards to perdition. Ay!But, since such law exists in just thy brain,I shall not hesitate to doff my capFor fear my head take flight."

"Let such be law—

Why, a new chapter of sad accidents

Were added to humanity's mischance,

No doubt at all, and as a man's false step

Now lays him prone on earth, contrariwise,

Removal from his shoulder o£ a weight

Might start him upwards to perdition. Ay!

But, since such law exists in just thy brain,

I shall not hesitate to doff my cap

For fear my head take flight."

"Nor feel reliefFinding it firm on shoulder. Tell me, now!What were the bond 'twixt man and man, dost judge,Pain once abolished? Come, be true! Our Shah—How stands he in thy favor? Why that shrug?Is not he lord and ruler?"

"Nor feel relief

Finding it firm on shoulder. Tell me, now!

What were the bond 'twixt man and man, dost judge,

Pain once abolished? Come, be true! Our Shah—

How stands he in thy favor? Why that shrug?

Is not he lord and ruler?"

"Easily!His mother bore him, first of those four wivesProvided by his father, such his luck:Since when his business simply was to breatheAnd take each day's new bounty. There he stands—Where else had I stood, were his birth-star mine?No, to respect men's power, I needs must seeMen's bare hands seek, find, grasp and wield the swordNobody else can brandish! Bless his heart,'Tis said, he scarcely counts his fingers right!"

"Easily!

His mother bore him, first of those four wives

Provided by his father, such his luck:

Since when his business simply was to breathe

And take each day's new bounty. There he stands—

Where else had I stood, were his birth-star mine?

No, to respect men's power, I needs must see

Men's bare hands seek, find, grasp and wield the sword

Nobody else can brandish! Bless his heart,

'Tis said, he scarcely counts his fingers right!"

"Well, then—his princely doles! from every feastOff go the feasted with the dish they ateAnd cup they drank from,—nay, a change besidesOf garments" ...

"Well, then—his princely doles! from every feast

Off go the feasted with the dish they ate

And cup they drank from,—nay, a change besides

Of garments" ...

"Sir, put case, for service done,—Or best, for love's sake,—such and such a slaveSold his allowance of sour lentil-soupTo herewith purchase me a pipe-stick,—nay,If he, by but one hour, cut short his sleepTo clout my shoe,—that were a sacrifice!"

"Sir, put case, for service done,—

Or best, for love's sake,—such and such a slave

Sold his allowance of sour lentil-soup

To herewith purchase me a pipe-stick,—nay,

If he, by but one hour, cut short his sleep

To clout my shoe,—that were a sacrifice!"

"All praise his gracious bearing."

"All praise mine—Or would praise did they never make approachExcept on all-fours, crawling till I bade,'Now that with eyelids thou hast touched the earth,Come close and have no fear, poor nothingness!'What wonder that the lady-rose I wooAnd palisade about from every wind,Holds herself handsomely? The wilding, now,Ruffled outside at pleasure of the blast,That still lifts up with something of a smileIts poor attempt at bloom" ...

"All praise mine—

Or would praise did they never make approach

Except on all-fours, crawling till I bade,

'Now that with eyelids thou hast touched the earth,

Come close and have no fear, poor nothingness!'

What wonder that the lady-rose I woo

And palisade about from every wind,

Holds herself handsomely? The wilding, now,

Ruffled outside at pleasure of the blast,

That still lifts up with something of a smile

Its poor attempt at bloom" ...

"A blameless life,Where wrong might revel with impunity—Remember that!"

"A blameless life,

Where wrong might revel with impunity—

Remember that!"

"The falcon on his fist—Reclaimed and trained and belled and beautifiedTill she believes herself the Simorgh's match—She only deigns destroy the antelope,Stoops at no carrion-crow: thou marvellest?

"The falcon on his fist—

Reclaimed and trained and belled and beautified

Till she believes herself the Simorgh's match—

She only deigns destroy the antelope,

Stoops at no carrion-crow: thou marvellest?

"So be it, then! He wakes no love in theeFor any one of divers attributesCommonly deemed love-worthy. All the same,I would he were not wasting, slow but sure,With that internal ulcer" ...

"So be it, then! He wakes no love in thee

For any one of divers attributes

Commonly deemed love-worthy. All the same,

I would he were not wasting, slow but sure,

With that internal ulcer" ...

"Say'st thou so?How should I guess? Alack, poor soul! But stay—Sure in the reach of art some remedyMust lie to hand: or if it lurk,—that leechOf fame in Tebriz, why not seek his aid?Couldst not thou, Dervish, counsel in the case?"

"Say'st thou so?

How should I guess? Alack, poor soul! But stay—

Sure in the reach of art some remedy

Must lie to hand: or if it lurk,—that leech

Of fame in Tebriz, why not seek his aid?

Couldst not thou, Dervish, counsel in the case?"

"My counsel might be—what imports a pangThe more or less, which puts an end to oneOdious in spite of every attributeCommonly deemed love-worthy?"

"My counsel might be—what imports a pang

The more or less, which puts an end to one

Odious in spite of every attribute

Commonly deemed love-worthy?"

"Attributes?Faugh!—nay, Ferishtah,—'tis an ulcer, think!Attributes, quotha? Here 's poor flesh and blood,Like thine and mine and every man's, a preyTo hell-fire! Hast thou lost thy wits for once?"

"Attributes?

Faugh!—nay, Ferishtah,—'tis an ulcer, think!

Attributes, quotha? Here 's poor flesh and blood,

Like thine and mine and every man's, a prey

To hell-fire! Hast thou lost thy wits for once?"

"Friend, here they are to find and profit by!Put pain from out the world, what room were leftFor thanks to God, for love to Man? Why thanks,—Except for some escape, whatever the style,From pain that might be, name it as thou mayst?Why love,—when all thy kind, save me, suppose,Thy father, and thy son, and ... well, thy dog,To eke the decent number out—we fewWho happen—like a handful of chance starsFrom the unnumbered host—to shine o'erheadAnd lend thee light,—our twinkle all thy store,—We only take thy love! Mankind, forsooth?Who sympathizes with their general joyFoolish as undeserved? But pain—see God'sWisdom at work!—man's heart is made to judgePain deserved nowhere by the common fleshOur birthright,—bad and good deserve alikeNo pain, to human apprehension! Lust,Greed, cruelty, injustice crave (we hold)Due punishment from somebody, no doubt:But ulcer in the midriff! that brings fleshTriumphant from the bar whereto arraignedSoul quakes with reason. In the eye of GodPain may have purpose and be justified:Man's sense avails to only see, in pain,A hateful chance no man but would avertOr, failing, needs must pity. Thanks to GodAnd love to man,—from man take these away,And what is man worth? Therefore, Mihrab Shah,Tax me my bread and salt twice over, claimLaila my daughter for thy sport,—go on!Slay my son's self, maintain thy poetryBeats mine,—thou meritest a dozen deaths!But—ulcer in the stomach,—ah, poor soul,Try a fig-plaster: may it ease thy pangs!"

"Friend, here they are to find and profit by!

Put pain from out the world, what room were left

For thanks to God, for love to Man? Why thanks,—

Except for some escape, whatever the style,

From pain that might be, name it as thou mayst?

Why love,—when all thy kind, save me, suppose,

Thy father, and thy son, and ... well, thy dog,

To eke the decent number out—we few

Who happen—like a handful of chance stars

From the unnumbered host—to shine o'erhead

And lend thee light,—our twinkle all thy store,—

We only take thy love! Mankind, forsooth?

Who sympathizes with their general joy

Foolish as undeserved? But pain—see God's

Wisdom at work!—man's heart is made to judge

Pain deserved nowhere by the common flesh

Our birthright,—bad and good deserve alike

No pain, to human apprehension! Lust,

Greed, cruelty, injustice crave (we hold)

Due punishment from somebody, no doubt:

But ulcer in the midriff! that brings flesh

Triumphant from the bar whereto arraigned

Soul quakes with reason. In the eye of God

Pain may have purpose and be justified:

Man's sense avails to only see, in pain,

A hateful chance no man but would avert

Or, failing, needs must pity. Thanks to God

And love to man,—from man take these away,

And what is man worth? Therefore, Mihrab Shah,

Tax me my bread and salt twice over, claim

Laila my daughter for thy sport,—go on!

Slay my son's self, maintain thy poetry

Beats mine,—thou meritest a dozen deaths!

But—ulcer in the stomach,—ah, poor soul,

Try a fig-plaster: may it ease thy pangs!"

So, the head aches and the limbs are faint!Flesh is a burden—even to you!Can I force a smile with a fancy quaint?Why are my ailments none or few?

So, the head aches and the limbs are faint!

Flesh is a burden—even to you!

Can I force a smile with a fancy quaint?

Why are my ailments none or few?

In the soul of me sits sluggishness;Body so strong and will so weak:The slave stands fit for the labor—yes,But the master's mandate is still to seek.

In the soul of me sits sluggishness;

Body so strong and will so weak:

The slave stands fit for the labor—yes,

But the master's mandate is still to seek.

You, now—what if the outside clayHelped, not hindered the inside flame?My dim to-morrow—your plain to-day,Yours the achievement, mine the aim?

You, now—what if the outside clay

Helped, not hindered the inside flame?

My dim to-morrow—your plain to-day,

Yours the achievement, mine the aim?

So were it rightly, so shall it be!Only, while earth we pace togetherFor the purpose apportioned you and me,Closer we tread for a common tether.

So were it rightly, so shall it be!

Only, while earth we pace together

For the purpose apportioned you and me,

Closer we tread for a common tether.

You shall sigh, "Wait for his sluggish soul!Shame he should lag, not lamed as I!"May not I smile, "Ungained her goal:Body may reach her—by and by"?

You shall sigh, "Wait for his sluggish soul!

Shame he should lag, not lamed as I!"

May not I smile, "Ungained her goal:

Body may reach her—by and by"?

"How of his fate, the Pilgrims' soldier-guideCondemned" (Ferishtah questioned), "for he slewThe merchant whom he convoyed with his bales—A special treachery?""Sir, the proofs were plain:Justice was satisfied: between two boardsThe rogue was sawn asunder, rightly served.""With all wise men's approval—mine at least.""Himself, indeed, confessed as much. 'I dieJustly' (groaned he) 'through over-greedinessWhich tempted me to rob: but grieve the mostThat he who quickened sin at slumber,—ay,Prompted and pestered me till thought grew deed,—The same is fled to Syria and is safe,Laughing at me thus left to pay for both.My comfort is that God reserves for himHell's hottest'" ..."Idle words.""Enlighten me!Wherefore so idle? Punishment by manHas thy assent,—the word is on thy lips.By parity of reason, punishmentBy God should likelier win thy thanks and praise.""Man acts as man must: God, as God beseems.A camel-driver, when his beast will bite,Thumps her athwart the muzzle; why?""How elseInstruct the creature—mouths should munch not bite?""True, he is man, knows but man's trick to teach.Suppose some plain word, told her first of all,Had hindered any biting?""Find him such,And fit the beast with understanding first!No understanding animals like RakhshNowadays, Master! Till they breed on earth,For teaching—blows must serve.""Who deals the blow—What if by some rare method,—magic, say,—He saw into the biter's very soul,And knew the fault was so repented ofIt could not happen twice?""That 's something: still,I hear, methinks, the driver say, 'No lessTake thy fault's due! Those long-necked sisters, see,Lean all a-stretch to know if biting meetsPunishment or enjoys impunity.For their sakes—thwack!'""The journey home at end,The solitary beast safe-stabled now,In comes the driver to avenge a wrongSuffered from six months since,—apparentlyWith patience, nay, approval: when the jawsMet i' the small o' the arm. 'Ha, Ladykin,Still at thy frolics, girl of gold?' laughed he:'Eat flesh? Rye-grass content thee rather with,Whereof accept a bundle!' Now,—what change!Laughter by no means! Now 't is, 'Fiend, thy friskWas fit to find thee provender, didst judge?Behold this red-hot twy-prong, thus I stickTo hiss i' the soft of thee!'""Behold? beholdA craxy noddle, rather! Sure the bruteMight wellnigh have plain speech coaxed out of tongue,And grow as voluble as Rakhsh himselfAt such mad outrage. 'Could I take thy mind,Guess thy desire? If biting was offence,Wherefore the rye-grass bundle, why each day'sPatting and petting, but to intimateMy playsomeness had pleased thee? Thou endowedWith reason, truly!'""Reason aims to raiseSome makeshift scaffold-vantage midway, whenceMan dares, for life's brief moment, peer below:But ape omniscience? Nay! The ladder lentTo climb by, step and step, until we reachThe little foothold-rise allowed mankindTo mount on and thence guess the sun's survey—Shall this avail to show us world-wide truthStretched for the sun's descrying? Reason bids,'Teach, Man, thy beast his duty first of allOr last of all, with blows if blows must be,—How else accomplish teaching?' Reason adds,'Before man's First, and after man's poor Last,God operated and will operate.'—Process of which man merely knows this much,—That nowise it resembles man's at all,Teaching or punishing.""It follows, then,That any malefactor I would smiteWith God's allowance, God himself will sparePresumably. No scapegrace? Then, rejoiceThou snatch-grace safe in Syria!""Friend, such viewIs but man's-wonderful and wide mistake.Man lumps his kind i' the mass: God singles thenceUnit by unit. Thou and God exist—So think!—for certain: think the mass—mankind—Disparts, disperses, leaves thyself alone!Ask thy lone soul what laws are plain to thee,—Thee and no other,—stand or fall by them!That is the part for thee: regard all elseFor what it may be—Time's illusion. ThisBe sure of—ignorance that sins, is safe.No punishment like knowledge! Instance, now!My father's choicest treasure was a bookWherein he, day by day and year by year,Recorded gains of wisdom for my sakeWhen I should grow to manhood. While a child,Coming upon the casket where it layUnguarded,—-what did I but toss the thingInto a fire to make more flame therewith,Meaning no harm? So acts man three-years-old!I grieve now at my loss by witlessness,But guilt was none to punish. Man mature—Each word of his I lightly held, each lookI turned from—wish that wished in vain—nay, willThat willed and yet went all to waste—'t is theseRankle like fire. Forgiveness? rather grantForgetfulness! The past is past and lost.However near I stand in his regard,So much the nearer had I stood by stepsOffered the feet which rashly spurned their helpThat I call Hell; why further punishment?"When I vexed you and you chid me,And I owned my fault and turnedMy cheek the way you bid me,And confessed the blow well earned,—My comfort all the while was—Fault was faulty—near, not quite!Do you wonder why the smile was?O'erpunished wrong grew right.But faults, you ne'er suspected,Nay, praised, no faults at all,—Those would you had detected—Crushed eggs whence snakes could crawl!

"How of his fate, the Pilgrims' soldier-guideCondemned" (Ferishtah questioned), "for he slewThe merchant whom he convoyed with his bales—A special treachery?"

"How of his fate, the Pilgrims' soldier-guide

Condemned" (Ferishtah questioned), "for he slew

The merchant whom he convoyed with his bales

—A special treachery?"

"Sir, the proofs were plain:Justice was satisfied: between two boardsThe rogue was sawn asunder, rightly served."

"Sir, the proofs were plain:

Justice was satisfied: between two boards

The rogue was sawn asunder, rightly served."

"With all wise men's approval—mine at least."

"Himself, indeed, confessed as much. 'I dieJustly' (groaned he) 'through over-greedinessWhich tempted me to rob: but grieve the mostThat he who quickened sin at slumber,—ay,Prompted and pestered me till thought grew deed,—The same is fled to Syria and is safe,Laughing at me thus left to pay for both.My comfort is that God reserves for himHell's hottest'" ...

"Himself, indeed, confessed as much. 'I die

Justly' (groaned he) 'through over-greediness

Which tempted me to rob: but grieve the most

That he who quickened sin at slumber,—ay,

Prompted and pestered me till thought grew deed,—

The same is fled to Syria and is safe,

Laughing at me thus left to pay for both.

My comfort is that God reserves for him

Hell's hottest'" ...

"Idle words."

"Enlighten me!Wherefore so idle? Punishment by manHas thy assent,—the word is on thy lips.By parity of reason, punishmentBy God should likelier win thy thanks and praise."

"Enlighten me!

Wherefore so idle? Punishment by man

Has thy assent,—the word is on thy lips.

By parity of reason, punishment

By God should likelier win thy thanks and praise."

"Man acts as man must: God, as God beseems.A camel-driver, when his beast will bite,Thumps her athwart the muzzle; why?"

"Man acts as man must: God, as God beseems.

A camel-driver, when his beast will bite,

Thumps her athwart the muzzle; why?"

"How elseInstruct the creature—mouths should munch not bite?"

"How else

Instruct the creature—mouths should munch not bite?"

"True, he is man, knows but man's trick to teach.Suppose some plain word, told her first of all,Had hindered any biting?"

"True, he is man, knows but man's trick to teach.

Suppose some plain word, told her first of all,

Had hindered any biting?"

"Find him such,And fit the beast with understanding first!No understanding animals like RakhshNowadays, Master! Till they breed on earth,For teaching—blows must serve."

"Find him such,

And fit the beast with understanding first!

No understanding animals like Rakhsh

Nowadays, Master! Till they breed on earth,

For teaching—blows must serve."

"Who deals the blow—What if by some rare method,—magic, say,—He saw into the biter's very soul,And knew the fault was so repented ofIt could not happen twice?"

"Who deals the blow—

What if by some rare method,—magic, say,—

He saw into the biter's very soul,

And knew the fault was so repented of

It could not happen twice?"

"That 's something: still,I hear, methinks, the driver say, 'No lessTake thy fault's due! Those long-necked sisters, see,Lean all a-stretch to know if biting meetsPunishment or enjoys impunity.For their sakes—thwack!'"

"That 's something: still,

I hear, methinks, the driver say, 'No less

Take thy fault's due! Those long-necked sisters, see,

Lean all a-stretch to know if biting meets

Punishment or enjoys impunity.

For their sakes—thwack!'"

"The journey home at end,The solitary beast safe-stabled now,In comes the driver to avenge a wrongSuffered from six months since,—apparentlyWith patience, nay, approval: when the jawsMet i' the small o' the arm. 'Ha, Ladykin,Still at thy frolics, girl of gold?' laughed he:'Eat flesh? Rye-grass content thee rather with,Whereof accept a bundle!' Now,—what change!Laughter by no means! Now 't is, 'Fiend, thy friskWas fit to find thee provender, didst judge?Behold this red-hot twy-prong, thus I stickTo hiss i' the soft of thee!'"

"The journey home at end,

The solitary beast safe-stabled now,

In comes the driver to avenge a wrong

Suffered from six months since,—apparently

With patience, nay, approval: when the jaws

Met i' the small o' the arm. 'Ha, Ladykin,

Still at thy frolics, girl of gold?' laughed he:

'Eat flesh? Rye-grass content thee rather with,

Whereof accept a bundle!' Now,—what change!

Laughter by no means! Now 't is, 'Fiend, thy frisk

Was fit to find thee provender, didst judge?

Behold this red-hot twy-prong, thus I stick

To hiss i' the soft of thee!'"

"Behold? beholdA craxy noddle, rather! Sure the bruteMight wellnigh have plain speech coaxed out of tongue,And grow as voluble as Rakhsh himselfAt such mad outrage. 'Could I take thy mind,Guess thy desire? If biting was offence,Wherefore the rye-grass bundle, why each day'sPatting and petting, but to intimateMy playsomeness had pleased thee? Thou endowedWith reason, truly!'"

"Behold? behold

A craxy noddle, rather! Sure the brute

Might wellnigh have plain speech coaxed out of tongue,

And grow as voluble as Rakhsh himself

At such mad outrage. 'Could I take thy mind,

Guess thy desire? If biting was offence,

Wherefore the rye-grass bundle, why each day's

Patting and petting, but to intimate

My playsomeness had pleased thee? Thou endowed

With reason, truly!'"

"Reason aims to raiseSome makeshift scaffold-vantage midway, whenceMan dares, for life's brief moment, peer below:But ape omniscience? Nay! The ladder lentTo climb by, step and step, until we reachThe little foothold-rise allowed mankindTo mount on and thence guess the sun's survey—Shall this avail to show us world-wide truthStretched for the sun's descrying? Reason bids,'Teach, Man, thy beast his duty first of allOr last of all, with blows if blows must be,—How else accomplish teaching?' Reason adds,'Before man's First, and after man's poor Last,God operated and will operate.'—Process of which man merely knows this much,—That nowise it resembles man's at all,Teaching or punishing."

"Reason aims to raise

Some makeshift scaffold-vantage midway, whence

Man dares, for life's brief moment, peer below:

But ape omniscience? Nay! The ladder lent

To climb by, step and step, until we reach

The little foothold-rise allowed mankind

To mount on and thence guess the sun's survey—

Shall this avail to show us world-wide truth

Stretched for the sun's descrying? Reason bids,

'Teach, Man, thy beast his duty first of all

Or last of all, with blows if blows must be,—

How else accomplish teaching?' Reason adds,

'Before man's First, and after man's poor Last,

God operated and will operate.'

—Process of which man merely knows this much,—

That nowise it resembles man's at all,

Teaching or punishing."

"It follows, then,That any malefactor I would smiteWith God's allowance, God himself will sparePresumably. No scapegrace? Then, rejoiceThou snatch-grace safe in Syria!"

"It follows, then,

That any malefactor I would smite

With God's allowance, God himself will spare

Presumably. No scapegrace? Then, rejoice

Thou snatch-grace safe in Syria!"

"Friend, such viewIs but man's-wonderful and wide mistake.Man lumps his kind i' the mass: God singles thenceUnit by unit. Thou and God exist—So think!—for certain: think the mass—mankind—Disparts, disperses, leaves thyself alone!Ask thy lone soul what laws are plain to thee,—Thee and no other,—stand or fall by them!That is the part for thee: regard all elseFor what it may be—Time's illusion. ThisBe sure of—ignorance that sins, is safe.No punishment like knowledge! Instance, now!My father's choicest treasure was a bookWherein he, day by day and year by year,Recorded gains of wisdom for my sakeWhen I should grow to manhood. While a child,Coming upon the casket where it layUnguarded,—-what did I but toss the thingInto a fire to make more flame therewith,Meaning no harm? So acts man three-years-old!I grieve now at my loss by witlessness,But guilt was none to punish. Man mature—Each word of his I lightly held, each lookI turned from—wish that wished in vain—nay, willThat willed and yet went all to waste—'t is theseRankle like fire. Forgiveness? rather grantForgetfulness! The past is past and lost.However near I stand in his regard,So much the nearer had I stood by stepsOffered the feet which rashly spurned their helpThat I call Hell; why further punishment?"

"Friend, such view

Is but man's-wonderful and wide mistake.

Man lumps his kind i' the mass: God singles thence

Unit by unit. Thou and God exist—

So think!—for certain: think the mass—mankind—

Disparts, disperses, leaves thyself alone!

Ask thy lone soul what laws are plain to thee,—

Thee and no other,—stand or fall by them!

That is the part for thee: regard all else

For what it may be—Time's illusion. This

Be sure of—ignorance that sins, is safe.

No punishment like knowledge! Instance, now!

My father's choicest treasure was a book

Wherein he, day by day and year by year,

Recorded gains of wisdom for my sake

When I should grow to manhood. While a child,

Coming upon the casket where it lay

Unguarded,—-what did I but toss the thing

Into a fire to make more flame therewith,

Meaning no harm? So acts man three-years-old!

I grieve now at my loss by witlessness,

But guilt was none to punish. Man mature—

Each word of his I lightly held, each look

I turned from—wish that wished in vain—nay, will

That willed and yet went all to waste—'t is these

Rankle like fire. Forgiveness? rather grant

Forgetfulness! The past is past and lost.

However near I stand in his regard,

So much the nearer had I stood by steps

Offered the feet which rashly spurned their help

That I call Hell; why further punishment?"

When I vexed you and you chid me,And I owned my fault and turnedMy cheek the way you bid me,And confessed the blow well earned,—

When I vexed you and you chid me,

And I owned my fault and turned

My cheek the way you bid me,

And confessed the blow well earned,—

My comfort all the while was—Fault was faulty—near, not quite!Do you wonder why the smile was?O'erpunished wrong grew right.

My comfort all the while was

—Fault was faulty—near, not quite!

Do you wonder why the smile was?

O'erpunished wrong grew right.

But faults, you ne'er suspected,Nay, praised, no faults at all,—Those would you had detected—Crushed eggs whence snakes could crawl!

But faults, you ne'er suspected,

Nay, praised, no faults at all,—

Those would you had detected—

Crushed eggs whence snakes could crawl!

Quoth one: "Sir, solve a scruple! No true sageI hear of, but instructs his scholar thus:'Wouldst thou be wise? Then mortify thyself!Balk of its craving every bestial sense!Say, "If I relish melons—so do swine!Horse, ass, and mule consume their provenderNor leave a pea-pod: fasting feeds the soul."'Thus they admonish: while thyself, I note,Eatest thy ration with an appetite,Nor fallest foul of whoso licks his lipsAnd sighs—'Well-saffroned was that barley-soup!'Can wisdom coexist with—gorge-and-swill,I say not,—simply sensual preferenceFor this or that fantastic meat and drink?Moreover, wind blows sharper than its wontThis morning, and thou hast already donnedThy sheepskin over-garment: sure the sageIs busied with conceits that soar aboveA petty change of season and its chanceOf causing ordinary flesh to sneeze?I always thought, Sir" ..."Son," Ferishtah said,"Truth ought to seem as never thought before.How if I give it birth in parable?A neighbor owns two camels, beasts of priceAnd promise, destined each to go, next week,Swiftly and surely with his merchandiseFrom Nishapur to Sebzevar, no truceTo tramp, but travel, spite of sands and drouth,In days so many, lest they miss the Fair.Each falls to meditation o'er his cribPiled high with provender before the start.Quoth this: 'My soul is set on winning praiseFrom goodman lord and master,—hump to hoof,I dedicate me to his service. How?Grass, purslane, lupines, and I know not what,Crammed in my manger? Ha, I see—I see!No, master, spare thy money! I shall trudgeThe distance and yet cost thee not a doitBeyond my supper on this mouldy bran.''Be magnified, O master, for the mealSo opportunely liberal!' quoth that.'What use of strength in me but to surmountSands and simooms, and bend beneath thy balesNo knee until I reach the glad bazaar?Thus I do justice to thy fare: no sprigOf toothsome chervil must I leave unchewed!Too bitterly should I reproach myselfDid I sink down in sight of Sebzevar,Remembering how the merest mouthful moreHad heartened me to manage yet a mile!'And so it proved: the too-abstemious bruteMidway broke down, his pack rejoiced the thieves,His carcass fed the vultures: not so heThe wisely thankful, who, good market-drudge,Let down his lading in the market-place,No damage to a single pack. Which beast,Think ye, had praise and patting and a brandOf good-and-faithful-servant fixed on flank?So, with thy squeamish scruple. What importsFasting or feasting? Do thy day's work, dareRefuse no help thereto, since help refusedIs hindrance sought and found. Win but the race—Who shall object 'He tossed three wine-cups off,And, just at starting, Lilith kissed his lips'?"More soberly,—consider this, my Son!Put case I never have myself enjoyed,Known by experience what enjoyment means,How shall I—share enjoyment?—no, indeed!—Supply it to my fellows,—ignorant,As so I should be of the thing they crave,How it affects them, works for good or ill.Style my enjoyment self-indulgence—sin—Why should I labor to infect my kindWith sin's occasion, bid them too enjoy,Who else might neither catch nor give againJoy's plague, but live in righteous misery?Just as I cannot, till myself convinced,Impart conviction, so, to deal forth joyAdroitly, needs must I know joy myself.Renounce joy for my fellows' sake? That 's joyBeyond joy; but renounced for mine, not theirs?Why, the physician called to help the sick,Cries 'Let me, first of all, discard my health!'No, Son: the richness hearted in such joyIs in the knowing what are gifts we give,Not in a vain endeavor not to know!Therefore, desire joy and thank God for it!The Adversary said,—a Jew reports,—החנם רא איוב אלהים ׃In Persian phrase, 'Does Job fear God for naught?'Job's creatureship is not abjured, thou fool!He nowise isolates himself and playsThe independent equal, owns no moreThan himself gave himself, so why thank God?A proper speech were this מאלהים'Equals we are, Job, labor for thyself,Nor bid me help thee: bear, as best flesh may,Pains I inflict not nor avail to cure:Beg of me nothing thou thyself mayst winBy work, or waive with magnanimity,Since we are peers acknowledged,—scarcely peers,Had I implanted any want of thineOnly my power could meet and gratify.'No: rather hear, at man's indifference—'Wherefore did I contrive for thee that earHungry for music, and direct thine eyeTo where I hold a seven-stringed instrument,Unless I meant thee to beseech me play?'"Once I saw a chemist take a pinch of powder—Simple dust it seemed—and half-unstop a phial:—Out dropped harmless dew. "Mixed nothings make" (quoth he)"Something!" So they did: a thunderclap, but louder—Lightning-flash, but fiercer—put spectators' nerves to trial:Sure enough, we learned what was, imagined what might be.Had I no experience how a lip's mere tremble,Look's half hesitation, cheek's just change of color,These effect a heartquake,—how should I conceiveWhat a heaven there may be? Let it but resembleEarth myself have known! No bliss that's finer, fuller,Only—bliss that lasts, they say, and fain would I believe.

Quoth one: "Sir, solve a scruple! No true sage

I hear of, but instructs his scholar thus:

'Wouldst thou be wise? Then mortify thyself!

Balk of its craving every bestial sense!

Say, "If I relish melons—so do swine!

Horse, ass, and mule consume their provender

Nor leave a pea-pod: fasting feeds the soul."'

Thus they admonish: while thyself, I note,

Eatest thy ration with an appetite,

Nor fallest foul of whoso licks his lips

And sighs—'Well-saffroned was that barley-soup!'

Can wisdom coexist with—gorge-and-swill,

I say not,—simply sensual preference

For this or that fantastic meat and drink?

Moreover, wind blows sharper than its wont

This morning, and thou hast already donned

Thy sheepskin over-garment: sure the sage

Is busied with conceits that soar above

A petty change of season and its chance

Of causing ordinary flesh to sneeze?

I always thought, Sir" ...

"Son," Ferishtah said,"Truth ought to seem as never thought before.How if I give it birth in parable?A neighbor owns two camels, beasts of priceAnd promise, destined each to go, next week,Swiftly and surely with his merchandiseFrom Nishapur to Sebzevar, no truceTo tramp, but travel, spite of sands and drouth,In days so many, lest they miss the Fair.Each falls to meditation o'er his cribPiled high with provender before the start.Quoth this: 'My soul is set on winning praiseFrom goodman lord and master,—hump to hoof,I dedicate me to his service. How?Grass, purslane, lupines, and I know not what,Crammed in my manger? Ha, I see—I see!No, master, spare thy money! I shall trudgeThe distance and yet cost thee not a doitBeyond my supper on this mouldy bran.''Be magnified, O master, for the mealSo opportunely liberal!' quoth that.'What use of strength in me but to surmountSands and simooms, and bend beneath thy balesNo knee until I reach the glad bazaar?Thus I do justice to thy fare: no sprigOf toothsome chervil must I leave unchewed!Too bitterly should I reproach myselfDid I sink down in sight of Sebzevar,Remembering how the merest mouthful moreHad heartened me to manage yet a mile!'And so it proved: the too-abstemious bruteMidway broke down, his pack rejoiced the thieves,His carcass fed the vultures: not so heThe wisely thankful, who, good market-drudge,Let down his lading in the market-place,No damage to a single pack. Which beast,Think ye, had praise and patting and a brandOf good-and-faithful-servant fixed on flank?So, with thy squeamish scruple. What importsFasting or feasting? Do thy day's work, dareRefuse no help thereto, since help refusedIs hindrance sought and found. Win but the race—Who shall object 'He tossed three wine-cups off,And, just at starting, Lilith kissed his lips'?

"Son," Ferishtah said,

"Truth ought to seem as never thought before.

How if I give it birth in parable?

A neighbor owns two camels, beasts of price

And promise, destined each to go, next week,

Swiftly and surely with his merchandise

From Nishapur to Sebzevar, no truce

To tramp, but travel, spite of sands and drouth,

In days so many, lest they miss the Fair.

Each falls to meditation o'er his crib

Piled high with provender before the start.

Quoth this: 'My soul is set on winning praise

From goodman lord and master,—hump to hoof,

I dedicate me to his service. How?

Grass, purslane, lupines, and I know not what,

Crammed in my manger? Ha, I see—I see!

No, master, spare thy money! I shall trudge

The distance and yet cost thee not a doit

Beyond my supper on this mouldy bran.'

'Be magnified, O master, for the meal

So opportunely liberal!' quoth that.

'What use of strength in me but to surmount

Sands and simooms, and bend beneath thy bales

No knee until I reach the glad bazaar?

Thus I do justice to thy fare: no sprig

Of toothsome chervil must I leave unchewed!

Too bitterly should I reproach myself

Did I sink down in sight of Sebzevar,

Remembering how the merest mouthful more

Had heartened me to manage yet a mile!'

And so it proved: the too-abstemious brute

Midway broke down, his pack rejoiced the thieves,

His carcass fed the vultures: not so he

The wisely thankful, who, good market-drudge,

Let down his lading in the market-place,

No damage to a single pack. Which beast,

Think ye, had praise and patting and a brand

Of good-and-faithful-servant fixed on flank?

So, with thy squeamish scruple. What imports

Fasting or feasting? Do thy day's work, dare

Refuse no help thereto, since help refused

Is hindrance sought and found. Win but the race—

Who shall object 'He tossed three wine-cups off,

And, just at starting, Lilith kissed his lips'?

"More soberly,—consider this, my Son!Put case I never have myself enjoyed,Known by experience what enjoyment means,How shall I—share enjoyment?—no, indeed!—Supply it to my fellows,—ignorant,As so I should be of the thing they crave,How it affects them, works for good or ill.Style my enjoyment self-indulgence—sin—Why should I labor to infect my kindWith sin's occasion, bid them too enjoy,Who else might neither catch nor give againJoy's plague, but live in righteous misery?Just as I cannot, till myself convinced,Impart conviction, so, to deal forth joyAdroitly, needs must I know joy myself.Renounce joy for my fellows' sake? That 's joyBeyond joy; but renounced for mine, not theirs?Why, the physician called to help the sick,Cries 'Let me, first of all, discard my health!'No, Son: the richness hearted in such joyIs in the knowing what are gifts we give,Not in a vain endeavor not to know!Therefore, desire joy and thank God for it!The Adversary said,—a Jew reports,—החנם רא איוב אלהים ׃In Persian phrase, 'Does Job fear God for naught?'Job's creatureship is not abjured, thou fool!He nowise isolates himself and playsThe independent equal, owns no moreThan himself gave himself, so why thank God?A proper speech were this מאלהים'Equals we are, Job, labor for thyself,Nor bid me help thee: bear, as best flesh may,Pains I inflict not nor avail to cure:Beg of me nothing thou thyself mayst winBy work, or waive with magnanimity,Since we are peers acknowledged,—scarcely peers,Had I implanted any want of thineOnly my power could meet and gratify.'No: rather hear, at man's indifference—'Wherefore did I contrive for thee that earHungry for music, and direct thine eyeTo where I hold a seven-stringed instrument,Unless I meant thee to beseech me play?'"

"More soberly,—consider this, my Son!

Put case I never have myself enjoyed,

Known by experience what enjoyment means,

How shall I—share enjoyment?—no, indeed!—

Supply it to my fellows,—ignorant,

As so I should be of the thing they crave,

How it affects them, works for good or ill.

Style my enjoyment self-indulgence—sin—

Why should I labor to infect my kind

With sin's occasion, bid them too enjoy,

Who else might neither catch nor give again

Joy's plague, but live in righteous misery?

Just as I cannot, till myself convinced,

Impart conviction, so, to deal forth joy

Adroitly, needs must I know joy myself.

Renounce joy for my fellows' sake? That 's joy

Beyond joy; but renounced for mine, not theirs?

Why, the physician called to help the sick,

Cries 'Let me, first of all, discard my health!'

No, Son: the richness hearted in such joy

Is in the knowing what are gifts we give,

Not in a vain endeavor not to know!

Therefore, desire joy and thank God for it!

The Adversary said,—a Jew reports,—

החנם רא איוב אלהים ׃

In Persian phrase, 'Does Job fear God for naught?'

Job's creatureship is not abjured, thou fool!

He nowise isolates himself and plays

The independent equal, owns no more

Than himself gave himself, so why thank God?

A proper speech were this מאלהים

'Equals we are, Job, labor for thyself,

Nor bid me help thee: bear, as best flesh may,

Pains I inflict not nor avail to cure:

Beg of me nothing thou thyself mayst win

By work, or waive with magnanimity,

Since we are peers acknowledged,—scarcely peers,

Had I implanted any want of thine

Only my power could meet and gratify.'

No: rather hear, at man's indifference—

'Wherefore did I contrive for thee that ear

Hungry for music, and direct thine eye

To where I hold a seven-stringed instrument,

Unless I meant thee to beseech me play?'"

Once I saw a chemist take a pinch of powder—Simple dust it seemed—and half-unstop a phial:—Out dropped harmless dew. "Mixed nothings make" (quoth he)"Something!" So they did: a thunderclap, but louder—Lightning-flash, but fiercer—put spectators' nerves to trial:Sure enough, we learned what was, imagined what might be.

Once I saw a chemist take a pinch of powder

—Simple dust it seemed—and half-unstop a phial:

—Out dropped harmless dew. "Mixed nothings make" (quoth he)

"Something!" So they did: a thunderclap, but louder—

Lightning-flash, but fiercer—put spectators' nerves to trial:

Sure enough, we learned what was, imagined what might be.

Had I no experience how a lip's mere tremble,Look's half hesitation, cheek's just change of color,These effect a heartquake,—how should I conceiveWhat a heaven there may be? Let it but resembleEarth myself have known! No bliss that's finer, fuller,Only—bliss that lasts, they say, and fain would I believe.

Had I no experience how a lip's mere tremble,

Look's half hesitation, cheek's just change of color,

These effect a heartquake,—how should I conceive

What a heaven there may be? Let it but resemble

Earth myself have known! No bliss that's finer, fuller,

Only—bliss that lasts, they say, and fain would I believe.

"What, I disturb thee at thy morning-meal:Cherries so ripe already? Eat apace!I recollect thy lesson yesterday.Yet—thanks, Sir, for thy leave to interrupt" ..."Friend, I have finished my repast, thank God!""There now, thy thanks for breaking fast on fruit!—Thanks being praise, or tantamount thereto.Prithee consider, have not things degree,Lofty and low? Are things not great and small.Thence claiming praise and wonder more or less?Shall we confuse them, with thy warrant too,Whose doctrine otherwise begins and endsWith just this precept, 'Never faith enoughIn man as weakness, God as potency'?When I would pay soul's tribute to that same,Why not look up in wonder, bid the starsAttest my praise of the All-mighty One?What are man's puny members and as meanRequirements weighed with Star-King Mushtari?There is the marvel!""Not to man—that 's me.List to what happened late, in fact or dream.A certain stranger, bound from far away,Still the Shah's subject, found himself beforeIspahan palace-gate. As duty bade,He enters in the courts, will, if he may,See so much glory as befits a slaveWho only comes, of mind to testifyHow great and good is shown our lord the Shah.In he walks, round he casts his eye about,Looks up and down, admires to heart's content,Ascends the gallery, tries door and door,None says his reverence nay: peeps in at each,Wonders at all the unimagined use,Gold here and jewels there,—so vast, that hall—So perfect yon pavilion!—lamps aboveBidding look up from luxuries below,—Evermore wonder topping wonder,—last—Sudden he comes upon a cosy nook,A nest-like little chamber, with his name,His own, yea, his and no mistake at all,Plain o'er the entry,—what, and he descriesJust those arrangements inside,—oh, the care!—Suited to soul and body both,—so snugThe cushion—nay, the pipe-stand furnished so!Whereat he cries aloud,—what think'st thou, Friend?'That these my slippers should be just my choice,Even to the color that I most affect,Is nothing: ah, that lamp, the central sun,What must it light within its minaretI scarce dare guess the good of! Who lives there?That let me wonder at,—no slipper toysMeant for the foot, forsooth, which kicks them—thus!'"Never enough faith in omnipotence,—Never too much, by parity, of faithIn impuissance, man's—which turns to strengthWhen once acknowledged weakness every way.How? Hear the teaching of another tale."Two men once owed the Shah a mighty sum,Beggars they both were: this one crossed his armsAnd bowed his head,—'whereof,' sighed he, 'each hairProved it a jewel, how the host's amountWere idly strewn for payment at thy feet!''Lord, here they lie, my havings poor and scant!All of the berries on my currant-bush,What roots of garlic have escaped the mice,And some five pippins from the seedling tree,—Would they were half-a-dozen! Anyhow,Accept my all, poor beggar that I am!''Received in full of all demands!' smiled backThe apportioner of every lot of groundFrom inch to acre. Littleness of loveBefits the littleness of loving thing.What if he boasted 'Seeing I am great,Great must my corresponding tribute be'?Mushtari,—well, suppose him seven times sevenThe sun's superior, proved so by some sage:Am I that sage? To me his twinkle blueIs all I know of him and thank him for,And therefore I have put the same in verse—'Like yon blue twinkle, twinks thine eye, my Love!'Neither shalt thou be troubled overmuchBecause thy offering—littleness itself—Is lessened by admixture sad and strangeOf mere man's motives,—praise with fear, and loveWith looking after that same love's reward.Alas, Friend, what was free from this alloy,—Some smatch thereof,—in best and purest loveProffered thy earthly father? Dust thou art,Dust shalt be to the end. Thy father tookThe dust, and kindly called the handful—gold,Nor cared to count what sparkled here and thereSagely unanalytic. Thank, praise, love(Sum up thus) for the lowest favors first,The commonest of comforts! aught besideVery omnipotence had overlookedSuch needs, arranging for thy little life.Nor waste thy power of love in wondermentAt what thou wiselier lettest shine unsoiledBy breath of word. That this last cherry soothesA roughness of my palate, that I know:His Maker knows why Mushtari was made."Verse-making was least of my virtues: I viewed with despairWealth that never yet was but might be—all that verse-making wereIf the life would but lengthen to wish, let the mind be laid bare.So I said "To do little is bad, to do nothing is worse"—And made verse.Love-making,—how simple a matter! No depths to explore,No heights in a life to ascend! No disheartening Before,No affrighting Hereafter,—love now will be love evermore.So I felt "To keep silence were folly:"—all language above,I made love.

"What, I disturb thee at thy morning-meal:Cherries so ripe already? Eat apace!I recollect thy lesson yesterday.Yet—thanks, Sir, for thy leave to interrupt" ...

"What, I disturb thee at thy morning-meal:

Cherries so ripe already? Eat apace!

I recollect thy lesson yesterday.

Yet—thanks, Sir, for thy leave to interrupt" ...

"Friend, I have finished my repast, thank God!"

"There now, thy thanks for breaking fast on fruit!—Thanks being praise, or tantamount thereto.Prithee consider, have not things degree,Lofty and low? Are things not great and small.Thence claiming praise and wonder more or less?Shall we confuse them, with thy warrant too,Whose doctrine otherwise begins and endsWith just this precept, 'Never faith enoughIn man as weakness, God as potency'?When I would pay soul's tribute to that same,Why not look up in wonder, bid the starsAttest my praise of the All-mighty One?What are man's puny members and as meanRequirements weighed with Star-King Mushtari?There is the marvel!"

"There now, thy thanks for breaking fast on fruit!—

Thanks being praise, or tantamount thereto.

Prithee consider, have not things degree,

Lofty and low? Are things not great and small.

Thence claiming praise and wonder more or less?

Shall we confuse them, with thy warrant too,

Whose doctrine otherwise begins and ends

With just this precept, 'Never faith enough

In man as weakness, God as potency'?

When I would pay soul's tribute to that same,

Why not look up in wonder, bid the stars

Attest my praise of the All-mighty One?

What are man's puny members and as mean

Requirements weighed with Star-King Mushtari?

There is the marvel!"

"Not to man—that 's me.List to what happened late, in fact or dream.A certain stranger, bound from far away,Still the Shah's subject, found himself beforeIspahan palace-gate. As duty bade,He enters in the courts, will, if he may,See so much glory as befits a slaveWho only comes, of mind to testifyHow great and good is shown our lord the Shah.In he walks, round he casts his eye about,Looks up and down, admires to heart's content,Ascends the gallery, tries door and door,None says his reverence nay: peeps in at each,Wonders at all the unimagined use,Gold here and jewels there,—so vast, that hall—So perfect yon pavilion!—lamps aboveBidding look up from luxuries below,—Evermore wonder topping wonder,—last—Sudden he comes upon a cosy nook,A nest-like little chamber, with his name,His own, yea, his and no mistake at all,Plain o'er the entry,—what, and he descriesJust those arrangements inside,—oh, the care!—Suited to soul and body both,—so snugThe cushion—nay, the pipe-stand furnished so!Whereat he cries aloud,—what think'st thou, Friend?'That these my slippers should be just my choice,Even to the color that I most affect,Is nothing: ah, that lamp, the central sun,What must it light within its minaretI scarce dare guess the good of! Who lives there?That let me wonder at,—no slipper toysMeant for the foot, forsooth, which kicks them—thus!'

"Not to man—that 's me.

List to what happened late, in fact or dream.

A certain stranger, bound from far away,

Still the Shah's subject, found himself before

Ispahan palace-gate. As duty bade,

He enters in the courts, will, if he may,

See so much glory as befits a slave

Who only comes, of mind to testify

How great and good is shown our lord the Shah.

In he walks, round he casts his eye about,

Looks up and down, admires to heart's content,

Ascends the gallery, tries door and door,

None says his reverence nay: peeps in at each,

Wonders at all the unimagined use,

Gold here and jewels there,—so vast, that hall—

So perfect yon pavilion!—lamps above

Bidding look up from luxuries below,—

Evermore wonder topping wonder,—last—

Sudden he comes upon a cosy nook,

A nest-like little chamber, with his name,

His own, yea, his and no mistake at all,

Plain o'er the entry,—what, and he descries

Just those arrangements inside,—oh, the care!—

Suited to soul and body both,—so snug

The cushion—nay, the pipe-stand furnished so!

Whereat he cries aloud,—what think'st thou, Friend?

'That these my slippers should be just my choice,

Even to the color that I most affect,

Is nothing: ah, that lamp, the central sun,

What must it light within its minaret

I scarce dare guess the good of! Who lives there?

That let me wonder at,—no slipper toys

Meant for the foot, forsooth, which kicks them—thus!'

"Never enough faith in omnipotence,—Never too much, by parity, of faithIn impuissance, man's—which turns to strengthWhen once acknowledged weakness every way.How? Hear the teaching of another tale.

"Never enough faith in omnipotence,—

Never too much, by parity, of faith

In impuissance, man's—which turns to strength

When once acknowledged weakness every way.

How? Hear the teaching of another tale.

"Two men once owed the Shah a mighty sum,Beggars they both were: this one crossed his armsAnd bowed his head,—'whereof,' sighed he, 'each hairProved it a jewel, how the host's amountWere idly strewn for payment at thy feet!'

"Two men once owed the Shah a mighty sum,

Beggars they both were: this one crossed his arms

And bowed his head,—'whereof,' sighed he, 'each hair

Proved it a jewel, how the host's amount

Were idly strewn for payment at thy feet!'

'Lord, here they lie, my havings poor and scant!All of the berries on my currant-bush,What roots of garlic have escaped the mice,And some five pippins from the seedling tree,—Would they were half-a-dozen! Anyhow,Accept my all, poor beggar that I am!''Received in full of all demands!' smiled backThe apportioner of every lot of groundFrom inch to acre. Littleness of loveBefits the littleness of loving thing.What if he boasted 'Seeing I am great,Great must my corresponding tribute be'?Mushtari,—well, suppose him seven times sevenThe sun's superior, proved so by some sage:Am I that sage? To me his twinkle blueIs all I know of him and thank him for,And therefore I have put the same in verse—'Like yon blue twinkle, twinks thine eye, my Love!'

'Lord, here they lie, my havings poor and scant!

All of the berries on my currant-bush,

What roots of garlic have escaped the mice,

And some five pippins from the seedling tree,—

Would they were half-a-dozen! Anyhow,

Accept my all, poor beggar that I am!'

'Received in full of all demands!' smiled back

The apportioner of every lot of ground

From inch to acre. Littleness of love

Befits the littleness of loving thing.

What if he boasted 'Seeing I am great,

Great must my corresponding tribute be'?

Mushtari,—well, suppose him seven times seven

The sun's superior, proved so by some sage:

Am I that sage? To me his twinkle blue

Is all I know of him and thank him for,

And therefore I have put the same in verse—

'Like yon blue twinkle, twinks thine eye, my Love!'

Neither shalt thou be troubled overmuchBecause thy offering—littleness itself—Is lessened by admixture sad and strangeOf mere man's motives,—praise with fear, and loveWith looking after that same love's reward.Alas, Friend, what was free from this alloy,—Some smatch thereof,—in best and purest loveProffered thy earthly father? Dust thou art,Dust shalt be to the end. Thy father tookThe dust, and kindly called the handful—gold,Nor cared to count what sparkled here and thereSagely unanalytic. Thank, praise, love(Sum up thus) for the lowest favors first,The commonest of comforts! aught besideVery omnipotence had overlookedSuch needs, arranging for thy little life.Nor waste thy power of love in wondermentAt what thou wiselier lettest shine unsoiledBy breath of word. That this last cherry soothesA roughness of my palate, that I know:His Maker knows why Mushtari was made."

Neither shalt thou be troubled overmuch

Because thy offering—littleness itself—

Is lessened by admixture sad and strange

Of mere man's motives,—praise with fear, and love

With looking after that same love's reward.

Alas, Friend, what was free from this alloy,—

Some smatch thereof,—in best and purest love

Proffered thy earthly father? Dust thou art,

Dust shalt be to the end. Thy father took

The dust, and kindly called the handful—gold,

Nor cared to count what sparkled here and there

Sagely unanalytic. Thank, praise, love

(Sum up thus) for the lowest favors first,

The commonest of comforts! aught beside

Very omnipotence had overlooked

Such needs, arranging for thy little life.

Nor waste thy power of love in wonderment

At what thou wiselier lettest shine unsoiled

By breath of word. That this last cherry soothes

A roughness of my palate, that I know:

His Maker knows why Mushtari was made."

Verse-making was least of my virtues: I viewed with despairWealth that never yet was but might be—all that verse-making wereIf the life would but lengthen to wish, let the mind be laid bare.So I said "To do little is bad, to do nothing is worse"—And made verse.

Verse-making was least of my virtues: I viewed with despair

Wealth that never yet was but might be—all that verse-making were

If the life would but lengthen to wish, let the mind be laid bare.

So I said "To do little is bad, to do nothing is worse"—

And made verse.

Love-making,—how simple a matter! No depths to explore,No heights in a life to ascend! No disheartening Before,No affrighting Hereafter,—love now will be love evermore.So I felt "To keep silence were folly:"—all language above,I made love.

Love-making,—how simple a matter! No depths to explore,

No heights in a life to ascend! No disheartening Before,

No affrighting Hereafter,—love now will be love evermore.

So I felt "To keep silence were folly:"—all language above,

I made love.

"Ay, but, Ferishtah,"—a disciple smirked,—"That verse of thine 'How twinks thine eye, my Love,Blue as yon star-beam!' much arrides myselfWho haply may obtain a kiss therewithThis eve from Laila where the palms abound—My youth, my warrant—so the palms be close!Suppose when thou art earnest in discourseConcerning high and holy things,—abruptI out with—'Laila's lip, how honey-sweet!'—What say'st thou, were it scandalous or no?I feel thy shoe sent flying at my mouthFor daring—prodigy of impudence—Publish what, secret, were permissible.Well,—one slide further in the imagined slough,—Knee-deep therein, (respect thy reverence!)—Suppose me well aware thy very selfStooped prying through the palm-screen, while I daredSolace me with caressings all the same?Unutterable, nay—unthinkable,Undreamable a deed of shame! Alack,How will it fare shouldst thou impress on meThat certainly an Eye is over allAnd each, to mark the minute's deed, word, thought,As worthy of reward or punishment?Shall I permit my sense an Eye-viewed shame,Broad daylight perpetration,—so to speak,—I had not dared to breathe within the Ear,With black night's help about me? Yet I standA man, no monster, made of flesh not cloud:Why made so, if my making prove offenceTo Maker's eye and ear?""Thou wouldst not standDistinctly Man,"—Ferishtah made reply,"Not the mere creature,—did no limit-lineRound thee about, apportion thee thy placeClean-cut from out and off the illimitable,—Minuteness severed from immensity.All of thee for the Maker,—for thyself,Workings inside the circle that evolveThine all,—the product of thy cultured plot.So much of grain the ground's lord bids thee yield:Bring sacks to granary in Autumn! spareDaily intelligence of this manure,That compost, how they tend to feed the soil:There thou art master sole and absolute—Only, remember doomsday! Twit'st thou meBecause I turn away my outraged noseShouldst thou obtrude thereon a shovelfulOf fertilizing kisses? Since thy sireWills and obtains thy marriage with the maid,Enough! Be reticent, I counsel thee,Nor venture to acquaint him, point by point,What he procures thee. Is he so obtuse?Keep thy instruction to thyself! My ass—Only from him expect acknowledgment,The while he champs my gift, a thistle-bunch,How much he loves the largess: of his loveI only tolerate so much as tellsBy wrinkling nose and inarticulate grunt,The meal, that heartens him to do my work,Tickles his palate as I meant it should."Not with my Soul, Love!—bid no soul like mineLap thee around nor leave the poor Sense room!Soul,—travel-worn, toil-weary,—would confineAlong with Soul, Soul's gains from glow and gloom,Captures from soarings high and divings deep.Spoil-laden Soul, how should such memories sleep?Take Sense, too—let me love entire and whole—Not with my Soul!Eyes shall meet eyes and find no eyes between,Lips feed on lips, no other lips to fear!No past, no future—so thine arms but screenThe present from surprise! not there, 't is here—Not then, 't is now:—back, memories that intrude!Make, Love, the universe our solitude,And, over all the rest, oblivion roll—Sense quenching Soul!

"Ay, but, Ferishtah,"—a disciple smirked,—

"That verse of thine 'How twinks thine eye, my Love,

Blue as yon star-beam!' much arrides myself

Who haply may obtain a kiss therewith

This eve from Laila where the palms abound—

My youth, my warrant—so the palms be close!

Suppose when thou art earnest in discourse

Concerning high and holy things,—abrupt

I out with—'Laila's lip, how honey-sweet!'—

What say'st thou, were it scandalous or no?

I feel thy shoe sent flying at my mouth

For daring—prodigy of impudence—

Publish what, secret, were permissible.

Well,—one slide further in the imagined slough,—

Knee-deep therein, (respect thy reverence!)—

Suppose me well aware thy very self

Stooped prying through the palm-screen, while I dared

Solace me with caressings all the same?

Unutterable, nay—unthinkable,

Undreamable a deed of shame! Alack,

How will it fare shouldst thou impress on me

That certainly an Eye is over all

And each, to mark the minute's deed, word, thought,

As worthy of reward or punishment?

Shall I permit my sense an Eye-viewed shame,

Broad daylight perpetration,—so to speak,—

I had not dared to breathe within the Ear,

With black night's help about me? Yet I stand

A man, no monster, made of flesh not cloud:

Why made so, if my making prove offence

To Maker's eye and ear?"

"Thou wouldst not standDistinctly Man,"—Ferishtah made reply,"Not the mere creature,—did no limit-lineRound thee about, apportion thee thy placeClean-cut from out and off the illimitable,—Minuteness severed from immensity.All of thee for the Maker,—for thyself,Workings inside the circle that evolveThine all,—the product of thy cultured plot.So much of grain the ground's lord bids thee yield:Bring sacks to granary in Autumn! spareDaily intelligence of this manure,That compost, how they tend to feed the soil:There thou art master sole and absolute—Only, remember doomsday! Twit'st thou meBecause I turn away my outraged noseShouldst thou obtrude thereon a shovelfulOf fertilizing kisses? Since thy sireWills and obtains thy marriage with the maid,Enough! Be reticent, I counsel thee,Nor venture to acquaint him, point by point,What he procures thee. Is he so obtuse?Keep thy instruction to thyself! My ass—Only from him expect acknowledgment,The while he champs my gift, a thistle-bunch,How much he loves the largess: of his loveI only tolerate so much as tellsBy wrinkling nose and inarticulate grunt,The meal, that heartens him to do my work,Tickles his palate as I meant it should."

"Thou wouldst not stand

Distinctly Man,"—Ferishtah made reply,

"Not the mere creature,—did no limit-line

Round thee about, apportion thee thy place

Clean-cut from out and off the illimitable,—

Minuteness severed from immensity.

All of thee for the Maker,—for thyself,

Workings inside the circle that evolve

Thine all,—the product of thy cultured plot.

So much of grain the ground's lord bids thee yield:

Bring sacks to granary in Autumn! spare

Daily intelligence of this manure,

That compost, how they tend to feed the soil:

There thou art master sole and absolute

—Only, remember doomsday! Twit'st thou me

Because I turn away my outraged nose

Shouldst thou obtrude thereon a shovelful

Of fertilizing kisses? Since thy sire

Wills and obtains thy marriage with the maid,

Enough! Be reticent, I counsel thee,

Nor venture to acquaint him, point by point,

What he procures thee. Is he so obtuse?

Keep thy instruction to thyself! My ass—

Only from him expect acknowledgment,

The while he champs my gift, a thistle-bunch,

How much he loves the largess: of his love

I only tolerate so much as tells

By wrinkling nose and inarticulate grunt,

The meal, that heartens him to do my work,

Tickles his palate as I meant it should."

Not with my Soul, Love!—bid no soul like mineLap thee around nor leave the poor Sense room!Soul,—travel-worn, toil-weary,—would confineAlong with Soul, Soul's gains from glow and gloom,Captures from soarings high and divings deep.Spoil-laden Soul, how should such memories sleep?Take Sense, too—let me love entire and whole—Not with my Soul!

Not with my Soul, Love!—bid no soul like mine

Lap thee around nor leave the poor Sense room!

Soul,—travel-worn, toil-weary,—would confine

Along with Soul, Soul's gains from glow and gloom,

Captures from soarings high and divings deep.

Spoil-laden Soul, how should such memories sleep?

Take Sense, too—let me love entire and whole—

Not with my Soul!

Eyes shall meet eyes and find no eyes between,Lips feed on lips, no other lips to fear!No past, no future—so thine arms but screenThe present from surprise! not there, 't is here—Not then, 't is now:—back, memories that intrude!Make, Love, the universe our solitude,And, over all the rest, oblivion roll—Sense quenching Soul!

Eyes shall meet eyes and find no eyes between,

Lips feed on lips, no other lips to fear!

No past, no future—so thine arms but screen

The present from surprise! not there, 't is here—

Not then, 't is now:—back, memories that intrude!

Make, Love, the universe our solitude,

And, over all the rest, oblivion roll—

Sense quenching Soul!

"Knowledge deposed, then!"—groaned whom that most grievedAs foolishest of all the company."What, knowledge, man's distinctive attribute,He doffs that crown to emulate an assBecause the unknowing long-ears loves at leastHusked lupines, and belike the feeder's self—Whose purpose in the dole what ass divines?""Friend," quoth Ferishtah, "all I seem to knowIs—I know nothing save that love I canBoundlessly, endlessly. My curls were crownedIn youth with knowledge,—off, alas, crown slippedNext moment, pushed by better knowledge stillWhich nowise proved more constant: gain, to-day,Was toppling loss to-morrow, lay at last—Knowledge, the golden?—lacquered ignorance!As gain—mistrust it! Not as means to gain:Lacquer we learn by: cast in fining-pot,We learn, when what seemed ore assayed proves dross,—Surelier true gold's worth, guess how purityI' the lode were precious could one light on oreClarified up to test of crucible.The prize is in the process: knowledge meansEver-renewed assurance by defeatThat victory is somehow still to reach,But love is victory, the prize itself:Love—trust to! Be rewarded for the trustIn trust's mere act. In love success is sure,Attainment—no delusion, whatsoe'erThe prize be: apprehended as a prize,A prize it is. Thy child as surely graspsAn orange as he fails to grasp the sunAssumed his capture. What if soon he findsThe foolish fruit unworthy grasping? JoyIn shape and color,—that was joy as true—Worthy in its degree of love—as graspOf sun were, which had singed his hand beside.What if he said the orange held no juiceSince it was not that sun he hoped to suck?This constitutes the curse that spoils our lifeAnd sets man maundering of his misery,That there 's no meanest atom he obtainsOf what he counts for knowledge but he cries'Hold here,—I have the whole thing,—know, this time,Nor need search farther!' Whereas, strew his pathWith pleasures, and he scorns them while he stoops:'This fitly call'st thou pleasure, pick up thisAnd praise it, truly? I reserve my thanksFor something more substantial.' Fool not thusIn practising with life and its delights!Enjoy the present gift, nor wait to knowThe unknowable. Enough to say 'I feelLove's sure effect, and, being loved, must loveThe love its cause behind,—I can and do!'Nor turn to try thy brain-power on the fact,(Apart from as it strikes thee, here and now—Its how and why, i' the future and elsewhere)Except to—yet once more, and ever again,Confirm thee in thy utter ignorance:Assured that, whatsoe'er the qualityOf love's cause, save that love was caused thereby,This—nigh upon revealment as it seemedA minute since—defies thy longing looks,Withdrawn into the unknowable once more.Wholly distrust thy knowledge, then, and trustAs wholly love allied to ignorance!There lies thy truth and safety. Love is praise,And praise is love! Refine the same, contriveAn intellectual tribute—ignoranceAppreciating ere approbativeOf knowledge that is infinite? With us,The small, who use the knowledge of our kindGreater than we, more wisely ignoranceRestricts its apprehension, sees and knowsNo more than brain accepts in faith of sight,Takes first what comes first, only sure so far.By Sebzevar a certain pillar standsSo aptly that its gnomon tells the hour;What if the townsmen said 'Before we thankWho placed it, for his serviceable craft,And go to dinner since its shade tells noon,Needs must we have the craftsman's purpose clearOn half a hundred more recondite pointsThan a mere summons to a vulgar meal!'Better they say 'How opportune the help!Be loved and praised, thou kindly-hearted sageWhom Hudhud taught,—the gracious spirit-bird,—How to construct the pillar, teach the time!'So let us say—not 'Since we know, we love,'But rather 'Since we love, we know enough.'Perhaps the pillar by a spell controlledMushtari in his courses? Added graceSurely I count it that the sage devised,Beside celestial service, ministryTo all the land, by one sharp shade at noonFalling as folk foresee. Once more, then, Friend—(What ever in those careless ears of thineWithal I needs must round thee)—knowledge doubtEven wherein it seems demonstrable!Love,—in the claim for love, that 's gratitudeFor apprehended pleasure, nowise doubt!Pay its due tribute,—sure that pleasure is,While knowledge may be, at the most. See, now!Eating my breakfast, I thanked God.—'For loveShown in the cherries' flavor? ConsecrateSo petty an example?' There 's the fault!We circumscribe omnipotence. Search sandTo unearth water: if first handful scoopedYields thee a draught, what need of digging downFull fifty fathoms deep to find a springWhereof the pulse might deluge half the land?Drain the sufficient drop, and praise what checksThe drouth that glues thy tongue,—what more would helpA brimful cistern? Ask the cistern's boonWhen thou wouldst solace camels: in thy case,Relish the drop and love the lovable!""And what may be unlovable?""Why, hate!If out of sand comes sand and naught but sand,Affect not to be quaffing at mirage,Nor nickname pain as pleasure. That, belike,Constitutes just the trial of thy witAnd worthiness to gain promotion,—hence,Proves the true purpose of thine actual life.Thy soul's environment of things perceived,Things visible and things invisible,Fact, fancy—all was purposed to evolveThis and this only—was thy wit of worthTo recognize the drop's use, love the same,And loyally declare against mirageThough all the world asseverated dustWas good to drink? Say, 'what made moist my lip,That I acknowledged moisture:' thou art saved!For why? The creature and creator standRightly related so. Consider well!Were knowledge all thy faculty, then GodMust be ignored: love gains him by first leap.Frankly accept the creatureship: ask goodTo love for: press bold to the tether's endAllotted to this life's intelligence!'So we offend?' Will it offend thyselfIf—impuissance praying potency—Thy child beseech that thou command the sunRise bright to-morrow—thou, he thinks supremeIn power and goodness, why shouldst thou refuse?Afterward, when the child matures, perchanceThe fault were greater if, with wit full-grown,The stripling dared to ask for a dinar,Than that the boy cried 'Pluck Sitara downAnd give her me to play with!' 'T is for himTo have no bounds to his belief in thee:For thee it also is to let her shineLustrous and lonely, so best serving him!"Ask not one least word of praise!Words declare your eyes are bright?What then meant that summer day'sSilence spent in one long gaze?Was my silence wrong or right?Words of praise were all to seek!Face of you and form of you,Did they find the praise so weakWhen my lips just touched your cheek—Touch which let my soul come through?

"Knowledge deposed, then!"—groaned whom that most grieved

As foolishest of all the company.

"What, knowledge, man's distinctive attribute,

He doffs that crown to emulate an ass

Because the unknowing long-ears loves at least

Husked lupines, and belike the feeder's self

—Whose purpose in the dole what ass divines?"

"Friend," quoth Ferishtah, "all I seem to knowIs—I know nothing save that love I canBoundlessly, endlessly. My curls were crownedIn youth with knowledge,—off, alas, crown slippedNext moment, pushed by better knowledge stillWhich nowise proved more constant: gain, to-day,Was toppling loss to-morrow, lay at last—Knowledge, the golden?—lacquered ignorance!As gain—mistrust it! Not as means to gain:Lacquer we learn by: cast in fining-pot,We learn, when what seemed ore assayed proves dross,—Surelier true gold's worth, guess how purityI' the lode were precious could one light on oreClarified up to test of crucible.The prize is in the process: knowledge meansEver-renewed assurance by defeatThat victory is somehow still to reach,But love is victory, the prize itself:Love—trust to! Be rewarded for the trustIn trust's mere act. In love success is sure,Attainment—no delusion, whatsoe'erThe prize be: apprehended as a prize,A prize it is. Thy child as surely graspsAn orange as he fails to grasp the sunAssumed his capture. What if soon he findsThe foolish fruit unworthy grasping? JoyIn shape and color,—that was joy as true—Worthy in its degree of love—as graspOf sun were, which had singed his hand beside.What if he said the orange held no juiceSince it was not that sun he hoped to suck?This constitutes the curse that spoils our lifeAnd sets man maundering of his misery,That there 's no meanest atom he obtainsOf what he counts for knowledge but he cries'Hold here,—I have the whole thing,—know, this time,Nor need search farther!' Whereas, strew his pathWith pleasures, and he scorns them while he stoops:'This fitly call'st thou pleasure, pick up thisAnd praise it, truly? I reserve my thanksFor something more substantial.' Fool not thusIn practising with life and its delights!Enjoy the present gift, nor wait to knowThe unknowable. Enough to say 'I feelLove's sure effect, and, being loved, must loveThe love its cause behind,—I can and do!'Nor turn to try thy brain-power on the fact,(Apart from as it strikes thee, here and now—Its how and why, i' the future and elsewhere)Except to—yet once more, and ever again,Confirm thee in thy utter ignorance:Assured that, whatsoe'er the qualityOf love's cause, save that love was caused thereby,This—nigh upon revealment as it seemedA minute since—defies thy longing looks,Withdrawn into the unknowable once more.Wholly distrust thy knowledge, then, and trustAs wholly love allied to ignorance!There lies thy truth and safety. Love is praise,And praise is love! Refine the same, contriveAn intellectual tribute—ignoranceAppreciating ere approbativeOf knowledge that is infinite? With us,The small, who use the knowledge of our kindGreater than we, more wisely ignoranceRestricts its apprehension, sees and knowsNo more than brain accepts in faith of sight,Takes first what comes first, only sure so far.By Sebzevar a certain pillar standsSo aptly that its gnomon tells the hour;What if the townsmen said 'Before we thankWho placed it, for his serviceable craft,And go to dinner since its shade tells noon,Needs must we have the craftsman's purpose clearOn half a hundred more recondite pointsThan a mere summons to a vulgar meal!'Better they say 'How opportune the help!Be loved and praised, thou kindly-hearted sageWhom Hudhud taught,—the gracious spirit-bird,—How to construct the pillar, teach the time!'So let us say—not 'Since we know, we love,'But rather 'Since we love, we know enough.'Perhaps the pillar by a spell controlledMushtari in his courses? Added graceSurely I count it that the sage devised,Beside celestial service, ministryTo all the land, by one sharp shade at noonFalling as folk foresee. Once more, then, Friend—(What ever in those careless ears of thineWithal I needs must round thee)—knowledge doubtEven wherein it seems demonstrable!Love,—in the claim for love, that 's gratitudeFor apprehended pleasure, nowise doubt!Pay its due tribute,—sure that pleasure is,While knowledge may be, at the most. See, now!Eating my breakfast, I thanked God.—'For loveShown in the cherries' flavor? ConsecrateSo petty an example?' There 's the fault!We circumscribe omnipotence. Search sandTo unearth water: if first handful scoopedYields thee a draught, what need of digging downFull fifty fathoms deep to find a springWhereof the pulse might deluge half the land?Drain the sufficient drop, and praise what checksThe drouth that glues thy tongue,—what more would helpA brimful cistern? Ask the cistern's boonWhen thou wouldst solace camels: in thy case,Relish the drop and love the lovable!"

"Friend," quoth Ferishtah, "all I seem to know

Is—I know nothing save that love I can

Boundlessly, endlessly. My curls were crowned

In youth with knowledge,—off, alas, crown slipped

Next moment, pushed by better knowledge still

Which nowise proved more constant: gain, to-day,

Was toppling loss to-morrow, lay at last

—Knowledge, the golden?—lacquered ignorance!

As gain—mistrust it! Not as means to gain:

Lacquer we learn by: cast in fining-pot,

We learn, when what seemed ore assayed proves dross,—

Surelier true gold's worth, guess how purity

I' the lode were precious could one light on ore

Clarified up to test of crucible.

The prize is in the process: knowledge means

Ever-renewed assurance by defeat

That victory is somehow still to reach,

But love is victory, the prize itself:

Love—trust to! Be rewarded for the trust

In trust's mere act. In love success is sure,

Attainment—no delusion, whatsoe'er

The prize be: apprehended as a prize,

A prize it is. Thy child as surely grasps

An orange as he fails to grasp the sun

Assumed his capture. What if soon he finds

The foolish fruit unworthy grasping? Joy

In shape and color,—that was joy as true—

Worthy in its degree of love—as grasp

Of sun were, which had singed his hand beside.

What if he said the orange held no juice

Since it was not that sun he hoped to suck?

This constitutes the curse that spoils our life

And sets man maundering of his misery,

That there 's no meanest atom he obtains

Of what he counts for knowledge but he cries

'Hold here,—I have the whole thing,—know, this time,

Nor need search farther!' Whereas, strew his path

With pleasures, and he scorns them while he stoops:

'This fitly call'st thou pleasure, pick up this

And praise it, truly? I reserve my thanks

For something more substantial.' Fool not thus

In practising with life and its delights!

Enjoy the present gift, nor wait to know

The unknowable. Enough to say 'I feel

Love's sure effect, and, being loved, must love

The love its cause behind,—I can and do!'

Nor turn to try thy brain-power on the fact,

(Apart from as it strikes thee, here and now—

Its how and why, i' the future and elsewhere)

Except to—yet once more, and ever again,

Confirm thee in thy utter ignorance:

Assured that, whatsoe'er the quality

Of love's cause, save that love was caused thereby,

This—nigh upon revealment as it seemed

A minute since—defies thy longing looks,

Withdrawn into the unknowable once more.

Wholly distrust thy knowledge, then, and trust

As wholly love allied to ignorance!

There lies thy truth and safety. Love is praise,

And praise is love! Refine the same, contrive

An intellectual tribute—ignorance

Appreciating ere approbative

Of knowledge that is infinite? With us,

The small, who use the knowledge of our kind

Greater than we, more wisely ignorance

Restricts its apprehension, sees and knows

No more than brain accepts in faith of sight,

Takes first what comes first, only sure so far.

By Sebzevar a certain pillar stands

So aptly that its gnomon tells the hour;

What if the townsmen said 'Before we thank

Who placed it, for his serviceable craft,

And go to dinner since its shade tells noon,

Needs must we have the craftsman's purpose clear

On half a hundred more recondite points

Than a mere summons to a vulgar meal!'

Better they say 'How opportune the help!

Be loved and praised, thou kindly-hearted sage

Whom Hudhud taught,—the gracious spirit-bird,—

How to construct the pillar, teach the time!'

So let us say—not 'Since we know, we love,'

But rather 'Since we love, we know enough.'

Perhaps the pillar by a spell controlled

Mushtari in his courses? Added grace

Surely I count it that the sage devised,

Beside celestial service, ministry

To all the land, by one sharp shade at noon

Falling as folk foresee. Once more, then, Friend—

(What ever in those careless ears of thine

Withal I needs must round thee)—knowledge doubt

Even wherein it seems demonstrable!

Love,—in the claim for love, that 's gratitude

For apprehended pleasure, nowise doubt!

Pay its due tribute,—sure that pleasure is,

While knowledge may be, at the most. See, now!

Eating my breakfast, I thanked God.—'For love

Shown in the cherries' flavor? Consecrate

So petty an example?' There 's the fault!

We circumscribe omnipotence. Search sand

To unearth water: if first handful scooped

Yields thee a draught, what need of digging down

Full fifty fathoms deep to find a spring

Whereof the pulse might deluge half the land?

Drain the sufficient drop, and praise what checks

The drouth that glues thy tongue,—what more would help

A brimful cistern? Ask the cistern's boon

When thou wouldst solace camels: in thy case,

Relish the drop and love the lovable!"

"And what may be unlovable?"

"Why, hate!If out of sand comes sand and naught but sand,Affect not to be quaffing at mirage,Nor nickname pain as pleasure. That, belike,Constitutes just the trial of thy witAnd worthiness to gain promotion,—hence,Proves the true purpose of thine actual life.Thy soul's environment of things perceived,Things visible and things invisible,Fact, fancy—all was purposed to evolveThis and this only—was thy wit of worthTo recognize the drop's use, love the same,And loyally declare against mirageThough all the world asseverated dustWas good to drink? Say, 'what made moist my lip,That I acknowledged moisture:' thou art saved!

"Why, hate!

If out of sand comes sand and naught but sand,

Affect not to be quaffing at mirage,

Nor nickname pain as pleasure. That, belike,

Constitutes just the trial of thy wit

And worthiness to gain promotion,—hence,

Proves the true purpose of thine actual life.

Thy soul's environment of things perceived,

Things visible and things invisible,

Fact, fancy—all was purposed to evolve

This and this only—was thy wit of worth

To recognize the drop's use, love the same,

And loyally declare against mirage

Though all the world asseverated dust

Was good to drink? Say, 'what made moist my lip,

That I acknowledged moisture:' thou art saved!

For why? The creature and creator standRightly related so. Consider well!Were knowledge all thy faculty, then GodMust be ignored: love gains him by first leap.Frankly accept the creatureship: ask goodTo love for: press bold to the tether's endAllotted to this life's intelligence!'So we offend?' Will it offend thyselfIf—impuissance praying potency—Thy child beseech that thou command the sunRise bright to-morrow—thou, he thinks supremeIn power and goodness, why shouldst thou refuse?Afterward, when the child matures, perchanceThe fault were greater if, with wit full-grown,The stripling dared to ask for a dinar,Than that the boy cried 'Pluck Sitara downAnd give her me to play with!' 'T is for himTo have no bounds to his belief in thee:For thee it also is to let her shineLustrous and lonely, so best serving him!"

For why? The creature and creator stand

Rightly related so. Consider well!

Were knowledge all thy faculty, then God

Must be ignored: love gains him by first leap.

Frankly accept the creatureship: ask good

To love for: press bold to the tether's end

Allotted to this life's intelligence!

'So we offend?' Will it offend thyself

If—impuissance praying potency—

Thy child beseech that thou command the sun

Rise bright to-morrow—thou, he thinks supreme

In power and goodness, why shouldst thou refuse?

Afterward, when the child matures, perchance

The fault were greater if, with wit full-grown,

The stripling dared to ask for a dinar,

Than that the boy cried 'Pluck Sitara down

And give her me to play with!' 'T is for him

To have no bounds to his belief in thee:

For thee it also is to let her shine

Lustrous and lonely, so best serving him!"

Ask not one least word of praise!Words declare your eyes are bright?What then meant that summer day'sSilence spent in one long gaze?Was my silence wrong or right?

Ask not one least word of praise!

Words declare your eyes are bright?

What then meant that summer day's

Silence spent in one long gaze?

Was my silence wrong or right?

Words of praise were all to seek!Face of you and form of you,Did they find the praise so weakWhen my lips just touched your cheek—Touch which let my soul come through?

Words of praise were all to seek!

Face of you and form of you,

Did they find the praise so weak

When my lips just touched your cheek—

Touch which let my soul come through?

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