Paul's sudden vehemence in recital seemed Less vehemence from recalling of long-past Strong spurning, than that spurning now renewed. Unmoved the Indian save to mild surprise Made answer: "Our lord Buddha teaches us Our karma is inalienably ours, The fatal fruit of what we do and are, No more to be divided from ourselves Than shadow from its substance in the sun. But, nay, that figure fails; our karma is Substantial and enduring more than we. We die, our karma lives; it shuffles off Us as outworn, and takes unto itself Forever other forms to fit its needs, Until the cycle is filled of change and change, And misery and existence cease together. Such karma is, the one substantial thing, And such are we, mere shadows of a day. Pray then explain to me how thou dost say Thou ridst thee of a karma once thine own; And how moreover thou canst add and say Thou tookst another karma, given, not won. I fain would understand the doctrine thine." With something of a sweet despondency Pathetically tingeing his good will, Paul on the gentle Indian gazed and said: "O brother, with all wish to meet thee fair, Yet know I that I cannot answer thee, Save as in parable and paradox Beyond thine understanding, yea, and mine." Paul so replied because his mind indeed Sank in a sense sincere of impotence; But partly too because he felt full well How all-accomplished in the skill of thought, How subtle, and how deep, the Indian was, As how by nature and by habit fond Of allegory and of mystery. He deemed that he should best his end attain Of feeding this inquiring spirit fine With the chief truth, by frankly staggering him, As the Lord staggered Nicodemus once, With that which in his doctrine was the highest And hardest to receive or understand, Set forth in terms of shadow to perplex, But also tempt to further curious quest. Merging the Indian's idiom in his own And lading it with unwonted sense, Paul said: "That karma, erst so valued, I escaped How? by becoming other than I was. The old man died and a new man was born, With a new karma given him, of pure grace, A seamless robe of snow-white righteousness, Enduement from the hand of One that died To earn the right of so bestowing it. Raiment of filthy rags with pride I had worn Before, not knowing, painful patchwork pieced Upon me of such works of righteousness Mine own as cost me dear indeed, yet worth Nothing to hide my nakedness and shame. Now I am clad in Jesus' righteousness, A shining vesture, with nor seam nor stain."