"Let us have both, the wonder and the word," Said Publius, and the Indian thus complied: "'The Blesséd to the sacred Ganges came And found the stream an overflowing flood. The others looked for boats and rafts to cross, Or else wove wicker into basket floats; But he, as quickly as a strong man forth Would stretch his arm, or his arm being stretched Would bring it back, so quickly at his wish, Had changed the hither for the thither side. There standing, he the wicker-weavers saw, And thus broke forth in parable and song: They who traverse the ocean of desire, Building themselves a causeway firm and good Across the quaking quagmires, quicksands, pools, Of ignorance, of delusion, and of lust, Whilst the vain world its wicker baskets weaves-- These are the wise, and these the saved indeed.'" A pang of suffering love and loving ruth, For Buddha himself, long quit of earthly strife, But more for Buddha's disciple present there, Shot through the heart of Paul hearing these things. He sighed in spirit heavily, but said, When Publius seemed to seek a word from him: "If I have taken the Buddha's sense aright, He means that they the happy are and wise Who find a means of ceasing from desire And entering into passionless repose, A state from death itself scarce different. Contrariwise taught Jesus: 'Blesséd they That hunger and that thirst;' that fan desire To all-consuming flame of appetite-- But it must be for righteousness they pant. Not from desire, but from impure desire, To cease--that is salvation; and we best Cease from impure desire when we to flame The whitest fan desire for all things true, For all things honorable, and all things just, For all things pure, and all things lovely, all Of good report, and worthy human praise. Passion for these things, being pure passion, burns The impure passion out: but passion such Is kindled only at the altar fire Of the eternal God's white holiness.