From flint and steel of flesh what burnings still ensue! Their sparks, the blasphemies of Christian and of Jew! If water in the jug and pitcher come to end, On wellspring we must draw, a fresh supply to send. Our idol is the muddy dregs left in our jug; The flesh the sewer from whence it filters, spite of plug. 40 The graven idol (fed from blackest sewer tide In flesh, its graver), was as fountain by wayside. The inward idol, pride, the filthy jug’s black slush; The prurient flesh, the source from which it had its gush. A hundred potters’ pitchers one small stone can break; And spill the cooling water drawn our thirst to slake. To smash an idol, too, quite easy may appear; Not easy to root out the flesh; too hard, I fear. Would see the picture of the flesh, inquiring youths? Description read of hell, with seven yawning mouths.[126] 45 From each soul’s flesh comes forth a special mode of guile. Each guile, a whirlpool ready Pharaoh’s hosts to spoil. In Moses, and in Moses’ God, seek refuge then. Abandon not God’s faith for Pharaohs and their men. The one true God adore; in Ahmed’s faith believe. Thy soul and body save,--from Abū-Jahl retrieve.[127] The Jew a Christian mother to that idol brought. An infant in her arms; the fire with blazes fraught. “Fall down and worship;” cried he, “senseless stock adore; The fire shall then not harm thee, now, nor evermore.” 50 That mother was a woman firm in true belief; And thence disdained prostration, though ’t should give relief.