The surmise of our deaf man wide was of the mark. A ten years’ friendship ’twould have wrecked! Beware such spark! Man’s judgment, friend, that’s based on sense’s treacherous sand, Can never be compared with revelation’s wand. Hast ear to hear? Hast mind to recognise the truth? Know, then, thy moral ear is deaf to godly sooth! The first who followed sense, and reason--as he thought-- Instead of God’s true light, the devil was, we’re taught. 170 He judged: “The fire more noble is than sordid earth; From fire was I created; clay gave Adam birth. The stock from whence it springs decides each kind of fruit; From darkness Adam’s sprung; light at my birth did suit.” The Lord replied: “’Tis not a question of descent. Pre-eminence is here the prize of righteous bent. ’Tis not a heritage of worldly wealth to share. Why talk of ancestry? Heart’s qualities declare. The heritage we’ve now to give is prophecy; The heirs thereto are they whose spirits hate a lie. 175 The son of Abū-Jahl believed, and saved his soul;[365] A son of Noah rebelled; became perdition’s goal.[366] The son of earth was made resplendent as the moon; Thou, son of fire, begone, disgraced, cursed, none too soon!” Investigations, reasonings, on days of cloud, By night, in darkness, guide the doubting crowd; But, when the sun shines,--when God’s temple’s clearly seen, No doubt remains which way to turn one’s face, I ween. The temple hidden, its direction quite unknown,— Then use thy judgment. God this method’s kindly shown.[367] 180 Whene’er you hear a note of God’s truth-warbling bird,[368] You straightway seize its literal sense, just as ’tis heard. You then use suppositions of your darksome mind, And form, through wrong conclusions, guesses worse than blind. The saints use terms of technical significance, Unknown to worldly reasoners’ crass ignorance. The language of the bird you learn, as to its notes; But clean destroy its sense; as sure as fancy dotes. E’en as the sick man of our tale, saints’ hearts are grieved; Though, like the deaf man, you suppose you’ve good achieved. 185 The scribe of writ inspired had all its text by heart; Then thought himself inspired;--would play a prophet’s part. The Prophet, warbler-like, smote him with powerful wing; He forthwith sank to blind despair, through conscience’ sting. So ’tis with you. Perversely, or with vain surmise, You would interpret words descended from the skies. Like Hārūt, and like Mārūt, well you’ve learnt the tune They sang of old in pride: “We’re God’s elect,” jejune. You pray for grace on all the sins of wicked men; You curse your own foul egotism, greed’s hungry ken. 190 Beware lest God’s just jealousy break forth amain, And smite you to the earth, ne’er more to rise again.