The Jewish king at sight of all this love and zeal, Was shamed,--was thunderstruck; his wicked heart did reel. 75 He saw that faith can give the lover’s ardent flame. Self-sacrifice is naught in true devotion’s name. Thank God! Beelzebub was conquered in that Jew. Thank God! ’Twas Satan’s self these darksome deeds did rue. The shame he sought to bring upon the cheeks of some, A hundredfold was heaped on his own head at home. He thought from others’ shame the veiling leaf to tear; He saw them safe, his own foul nakedness laid bare. A ribald fellow once, by lewdest mob sustained, Called railing out on Ahmed. Wry his mouth remained. 80 He then came begging pity, in the Prophet’s trace: “Forgive, Muhammed, who’rt endued with wisdom’s grace. For want of knowing better, insolent I was. ’Tis I that merit scorn and mockery. Alas!” When God decides to humble any sinner, proud, A demon stirs this last t’ insult some man of God. And he whom God elects to cloak where ’tis he halts, Has grace bestowed on him to cover others’ faults. Should favour from the Lord in mercy reach a man, Humility is given him; to pray ’s part of his plan. 85 How blessed are the eyes that smart with sorrow’s brine! How blessed is the heart inflamed with love divine! Contrition’s tears are ever hallowed by heaven’s smile. The latter end of all things man should scan awhile. Wherever water flows, the fields are fresh and green. Tears followed are by grace;--as all the prophets ween. Then imitate the water-wheel, that groans and weeps.[130] By prayers, and moans, and tears, a man his heart pure keeps. Wouldst thou shed tears? Feel pity, when thou meetest woe. Wouldst mercy find? Show mercy, when men bow them low. 90 The Jewish king reproached the fire: “O raging thing! Thy all-destructive might, where is it? Where’s thy sting? If thou wilt not consume, what quality hast thou? Or has my fortune veered; and with it, thy dread glow? Thou sparest not thy worshippers, the Magian race. Whence comes it; these who spurn thee, Christians, meet with grace? Thou never wast, O fire, for patience noted here. Why burn’st thou not? What is there? Hast thou lost thy power? Is this eye-binding?[131] Is it, rather, reason’s blind? How is’t thy flames consume not all their hated kind? 95 Bewitched thee have they? Or is’t magic natural? Or is’t my fortune wills that thou turn prodigal?”