That Omar’s steps were often winding and devious, and like those of all other mortal men, we gather from his words. No doubt his neighbors delighted in gossiping about the great philosopher, and his reputation was often tarnished by their idle words. These slanderers have been long forgotten—they could not live upon the great name they sullied, and we should not even know he was their prey except for lines like these: Indeed the Idols I have loved so long Have done my credit in Men’s eyes much wrong; Have drown’d my Glory in a shallow Cup, And sold my reputation for a Song. Eight hundred years ago, as to-day, the love of wine was one of the chief weaknesses of the flesh. Doubtless the other frailties of human nature are of substantially the same kind as eight centuries ago, for while man may change the fashion of his garment or religion, nature is ever consistent and persistent, and is the same yesterday, to-day and forever. But our old human philosopher, like our modern human men, saw the folly of his ways, and made many a brave resolve, but these good intentions and solemn purposes melted in the sunshine then the same as now. Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before I swore—but was I sober when I swore? And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore. But Omar was greater than most of the weak and sinning children of to-day. His own frailties taught him the rare lesson, that of all the virtues, charity is the chiefest! And as we read the wondrous product of his brain and understand the thoughts that stirred his being, we can know the man better than his neighbors who judged a great soul by the narrow vision of sordid minds. We know that his purpose was lofty, and above all the mists and conflicting emotions and desires of his life he rose majestic and supreme, unsullied by the specks that can only mar the weak. Let us turn then to the philosophy and poetry of this great soul to know the man, and as figs are not gathered of thistles, we may be sure that broad thoughts, high aspirations, and tender charity are born only of great minds and rare men. To Omar Khayyam, the so-called sins of men were not crimes, but weaknesses inherent in their being and beyond their power to prevent or overcome. He knew that man could not separate himself from all the rest of nature; and that the rules and conditions of his being were as fixed and absolute as the revolutions of the planets and the changing seasons of the year. Above man and his works he saw the heavy hand of destiny, ever guiding and controlling, ever moving its creature forward to the inevitable fate that all the centuries had placed in store for the helpless captive, marching shackled to the block.