WE have opened the door, Once, twice, thrice! We have swept the floor, We have boiled the rice. Come hither, come hither! Come from the far lands, Come from the star lands, Come as before! We lived long together, We loved one another; Come back to our life. Come father, come mother, Come sister and brother, Child, husband, and wife, For you we are sighing. Come take your old places, Come look in our faces, The dead on the dying, Come home! We have opened the door, Once, twice, thrice! We have kindled the coals, And we boil the rice For the feast of souls. Come hither, come hither! Think not we fear you, Whose hearts are so near you. Come tenderly thought on, Come all unforgotten, Come from the shadow-lands, From the dim meadow-lands Where the pale grasses bend Low to our sighing. Come father, come mother, Come sister and brother, Come husband and friend, The dead to the dying, Come home! We have opened the door You entered so oft; For the feast of souls We have kindled the coals, And we boil the rice soft. Come you who are dearest To us who are nearest, Come hither, come hither, From out the wild weather; The storm clouds are flying, The peepul is sighing; Come in from the rain. Come father, come mother, Come sister and brother, Come husband and lover, Beneath our roof-cover. Look on us again, The dead on the dying, Come home! We have opened the door! For the feast of souls We have kindled the coals We may kindle no more! Snake, fever, and famine, The curse of the Brahmin, The sun and the dew, They burn us, they bite us, They waste us and smite us; Our days are but few In strange lands far yonder To wonder and wander We hasten to you. List then to our sighing, While yet we are here Nor seeing nor hearing, We wait without fearing, To feel you draw near. O dead, to the dying Come home! 1879. THE KHAN'S DEVIL. THE Khan came from Bokhara town To Hamza, santon of renown. "My head is sick, my hands are weak; Thy help, O holy man, I seek." In silence marking for a space The Khan's red eyes and purple face, Thick voice, and loose, uncertain tread, "Thou hast a devil!" Hamza said. "Allah forbid!" exclaimed the Khan. Rid me of him at once, O man!" "Nay," Hamza said, "no spell of mine Can slay that cursed thing of thine. "Leave feast and wine, go forth and drink Water of healing on the brink "Where clear and cold from mountain snows, The Nahr el Zeben downward flows. "Six moons remain, then come to me; May Allah's pity go with thee!"