And silent drink. The tumult of our mirth Is worse than our mad welcoming of birth:-- The thunder hath a grandeur, but the rains, Without the thunder, quench the thirst of Earth. LXX The Prophets, too, among us come to teach, Are one with those who from the pulpit preach; They pray, and slay, and pass away, and yet Our ills are as the pebbles on the beach. LXXI And though around the temple they should run For seventy times and seven, and in the sun Of mad devotion drool, their prayers are still Like their desires of feasting-fancies spun. LXXII Oh! let them in the marshes grope, or ride Their jaded Myths along the mountain-side; Come up with me, O Brother, to the heights Where Reason is the prophet and the guide. LXXIII "What is thy faith and creed," they ask of me, "And who art thou? Unseal thy pedigree."-- I am the child of Time, my tribe, mankind, And now this world's my caravanseri. LXXIV Swathe thee in wool, my Sufi friend, and go Thy way; in cotton I the wiser grow; But we ourselves are shreds of earth, and soon The Tailor of the Universe will sew. LXXV Ay! suddenly the mystic Hand will seal The saint's devotion and the sinner's weal; They worship Saturn, but I worship One Before whom Saturn and the Heavens kneel. LXXVI Among the crumbling ruins of the creeds The Scout upon his camel played his reeds And called out to his people,--"Let us hence! The pasture here is full of noxious weeds." LXXVII Among us falsehood is proclaimed aloud, But truth is whispered to the phantom bowed Of conscience; ay! and Wrong is ever crowned, While Right and Reason are denied a shroud. LXXVIII And why in this dark Kingdom tribute pay? With clamant multitudes why stop to pray? Oh! hear the inner Voice:--"If thou'lt be right, Do what they deem is wrong, and go thy way." LXXIX Thy way unto the Sun the spaces through Where king Orion's black-eyed huris slew The Mother of Night to guide the Wings that bear The flame divine hid in a drop of dew. LXXX Hear ye who in the dust of ages creep, And in the halls of wicked masters sleep:-- Arise! and out of this wan weariness Where Allah's laughter makes the Devil weep. LXXXI Arise! for lo! the Laughter and the Weeping Reveal the Weapon which the Master's keeping Above your heads; Oh! take it up and strike! The lion of tyranny is only sleeping. LXXXII Evil and Virtue? Shadows on the street Of Fate and Vanity,--but shadows meet When in the gloaming they are hast'ning forth To drink with Night annihilation sweet. LXXXIII And thus the Sun will write and will efface The mystic symbols which the sages trace In vain, for all the worlds of God are stored In his enduring vessels Time and Space. LXXXIV For all my learning's but a veil, I guess, Veiling the phantom of my nothingness; Howbeit, there are those who think me wise, And those who think me--even these I bless. LXXXV