Next, when we walked through the inner gateway, and went down the double flight of steps leading to the colonnades, whence the Ka’bah twinkled on us its dusky, square face, we bowed reverently to the House of God and forthwith recited the prayer, which being interpreted, runs: “In the Name of the great Lord who is alone. There is no god like unto Him. O God, I visit this Thy temple, praising Thee, and glorifying Thy name. Nothing can be done save through Thee, for Thine is the power, and Thine the will alone.” Then I paused awhile, and my eyes took in the impressive scene. The open Harem, surrounded on a higher level by the colonnades that are surmounted by the crescented domes, was packed with pilgrims from every quarter of Islám. In the middle is the Ka’bah, hemmed in on three sides of its solid cubic walls by the semi-circular row of columns already described. Now, facing the gold Spout, on the outer side of the pillared enclosure, stands the station of the Hanifites. There, in front of the pulpit, were grouped in the space between the paved ways and in every attitude of worship the followers of reason. Some were standing erect, their hands folded on their breasts, others were kneeling on their prayer rugs, and many were bowed to the lump of clay. Opposite to them were praying the Hanbalites before the pavilion-shaped pulpit that forms the extreme limit of the enclosure on the side nearest to the Black Stone. Priests and peasants, merchants and princes, all had come from far and near to render unto God their hearts and minds in accordance with the law of the Prophet. Those living people clothed in the garments of the dead, there they were, in the very centre whence had sprung the Faith that flashed forth its rays over the East, there they were, and why? To do homage to Him whom Muhammad had made manifest and had delighted to honour thirteen hundred and twenty years ago. It must be conceded, even by the sceptical and the scoffer, that the voice of the “illiterate” Prophet has still the power to work wonders. Hark, his followers are shouting their allegiance to his watchword. Up go their voices to the burning sky overhead: “There is no god but God! Muhammad is the Messenger of God!” Few could remain silent on hearing the cry of Faith within the columned square of the Harem. It rang out like a trumpet-call, filling the heart with an emotion never felt before. Sincere and true, it drowned the rambling eloquence of the priest haranguing the Malekites out there to the west. It gathered in volume as it passed from lip to lip until the very pillars of the Harem seemed to shake. And then from time to time was sung the Talbih, which might be called the song of the winding-sheet, so frequently was it repeated by the pilgrims in íhrám: Labbaik, Allahomma, Labbaik! Labbaik, la Sherika lak Labbaik! Labbaik, enal-hamda, vanahmeta lak Labbaik! Labbaik, la Sherika lak Labbaik!