While I was admiring the unpretentious grace of the holy shrine, and meditating from its threshold on the golden age of Islám, my guide broke in on my thoughts, saying: “You are allowed to make two prostrations at the base of any one of the pillars. Let me advise you, in the welfare of your immortal soul, to choose the one facing the Black Stone outside, which is the most sacred spot under the canopy of heaven.” The difficulty was to force my way thither. The whole house was packed with pilgrims. Some were praying, some were weeping, others were groaning or beating their chests, and all--except the Bedouins--were clad in their sacred habits. A great awe fell on me. It was as though the graves had yielded up their dead at the blast of Israfil’s trumpet. All eyes were blind, all ears deaf. The thought of home, of country, of wife and child seemed drowned as in a sea of passionate devotion to the Creator of those human blessings. And from outside, in the Harem, there arose the chant of the Talbih, which every pilgrim must sing on sighting Mecca, on donning the Ihrám, on entering the Harem, on starting for the Valley of Desire and the Mountain of Compassion, and on performing the little pilgrimage of Omreh. I paused in the effort to reach the southern pillar, and listened to the singing from without. Labbaik, Allahomma, Labbaik! Labbaik, la Sherika lak Labbaik! Labbaik, enal-hamda, Vanahmeta lak Labbaik! Labbaik, la Sherika lak Labbaik! (Verily, here am I! O Allah, here I am! Verily, here am I! O Allah, thou hast no mate! Verily, here am I, O Allah! All praise and glory to thee! Verily, here am I! O Allah, thou hast no mate!)