But on the Night of Power Christian memories are swept aside, and the stern God of Mohammed fills with His presence the noblest mosque in all the world. As you look down between the pillars of the vast gallery your eyes are blinded by a mist of light--thousands of lamps form a solid roof of brightness between you and the praying people on the floor of the mosque. Gradually the light breaks and disparts, and between the lamps you see the long lines of worshippers below--long, even lines, set all awry across the pavement that the people may turn their eyes not to the East, but further south, where the Ka’bah stands in holy Mecca. From the pulpit the words of the preacher echo round the mosque, and every time that he pronounces the name of God the people fall upon their faces with a great sound, which is like the sound of all nations falling prostrate before their Creator. For a moment the silence of adoration weighs upon the air, then they rise to their feet, and the preacher’s voice rolls out again through arches and galleries and domes. ‘God is the Light of Heaven and Earth!’ say the golden letters overhead. ‘He is the Light!’ answer the thousands of lamps beneath. ‘God Is the Light!’ reads the preacher. ‘God is the Light!’ repeats a praying nation, and falls with a sound like thunder, prostrate before His name. With the Night of Predestination Ramazan is drawing to a close. On the fifth succeeding evening all the Mohammedan world will be agog to catch the first glimpse of the crescent moon, whose rays announce the end of the fast. Woe to true believers if clouds hang over the horizon! The heaven-sent sign alone may set a term to the penance imposed by heavenly decree, and not until the pale herald has ushered in the month of Shawwal may men return to the common comforts of every day. _REQUIESCANT IN PACE_