Just like as demons, and as wild beasts, out of dread Of man, fled to the wilds, when envy reared its head, 250 So, out of dread of miracles by prophets wrought, Do cavillers take refuge in sophisms of thought. In name, they’re Muslims; and, by virtue of their wiles, We can’t know what they are; their faces are all smiles. Precisely as false-coiners on their metal base A coat of silver put, the sovereign’s name then trace, In word, God’s unity confessed, and holy law, Their hearts are like the poison-grain in sweet kickshaw. Not Venus will convince a sophist in debate; But true religion speaks, confutes his postulate. 255 His body’s like a stock, his spirit’s but a stone. Howe’er he contradict, them God directs alone. In words, mayhap, he may detect a hitch or two; But his own soul and body witness God is true. Some stones were held in hand by Abū-Jahl one day.[279] Said he to Muhammed: “What hold I here? Now say. Since thou’rt a prophet, tell: What hold I in my hand? The secrets of high heaven thou claimest to command.” Said Muhammed: “How can’st suppose I should not tell? The things themselves shall speak. I’m truthful; they know well.” 260 Said Abū-Jahl: “This last pretension’s harder still.” To him replied the Prophet: “They’ll obey God’s will.” From out of his closed hand a chorus now burst forth; Confession of God’s unity; His Prophet’s worth: “There is no god but God,” the stones distinctly sang; “Muhammed is God’s prophet,” also clearly rang. When Abū-Jahl this heard, he cast the stones away, In anger from his hand, as then he dared to say: “Most surely no magician ever was like thee. Magicians’ chief art thou; crown on their heads thou’lt be.” 265 May dust alight upon his head, blind miscreant! ’Twas Satan closed his inward sight;--cursed recusant. Now turn we once again to hear the minstrel’s tale, For all this time he’s waiting; anxious, wan, and pale. The heavenly voice the Caliph called: “Ho! ‘Umer! Ho! Our servant’s want relieve; set thou him free from woe. A servant whom we hold in very high esteem, In public burial-ground, go, visit; him redeem. From out the public treasury do thou extract Seven hundred golden sequins, with due care and tact. 270 To him deliver them; and say: ‘O man of good, For present needs let this suffice; ’twill give thee food. Thy harpstrings’ hire it is. Go hence; and when ’tis done, Do thou again come hither; look for me alone.’”