The Kadisah of Haji Abdu El-Yezdi | Page 3

breaks;
��puzzle, machine, automaton;
The first of Pots the Potter made
by Chrysorrhoas�� blue-green wave;*?Methinks I see him smile to see
what guerdon to the world he gave!
? The Abana, River of Damascus.
How Life is dim, unreal, vain,
like scenes that round the drunkard reel;?How ��Being�� meaneth not to be;
to see and hear, smell, taste and feel.
A drop in Ocean��s boundless tide,
unfathom��d waste of agony;?Where millions live their horrid lives
by making other millions die.
How with a heart that would through love
to Universal Love aspire,?Man woos infernal chance to smite,
as Min��arets draw the Thunder-fire.
How Earth on Earth builds tow��er and wall,
to crumble at a touch of Time;?How Earth on Earth from Sh?nar-plain
the heights of Heaven fain would climb.
How short this Life, how long withal;
how false its weal, how true its woes,?This fever-fit with paroxysms
to mark its opening and its close.
Ah! gay the day with shine of sun,
and bright the breeze, and blithe the throng?Met on the River-bank to play,
when I was young, when I was young:
Such general joy could never fade;
and yet the chilling whisper came?One face had paled, one form had failed;
had fled the bank, had swum the stream;
Still revellers danced, and sang, and trod
the hither bank of Time��s deep tide,?Still one by one they left and fared
to the far misty thither side;
And now the last hath slipt away
yon drear Death-desert to explore,?And now one Pilgrim worn and lorn
still lingers on the lonely shore.
Yes, Life in youth-tide standeth still;
in manhood streameth soft and slow;?See, as it nears the ��abysmal goal
how fleet the waters flash and flow!
And Deaths are twain; the Deaths we see
drop like the leaves in windy Fall;?But ours, our own, are ruined worlds,
a globe collapst, last end of all.
We live our lives with rogues and fools,
dead and alive, alive and dead,?We die ��twixt one who feels the pulse
and one who frets and clouds the head:
And,��oh, the Pity!��hardly conned
the lesson comes its fatal term;?Fate bids us bundle up our books,
and bear them bod��ily to the worm:
Hardly we learn to wield the blade
before the wrist grows stiff and old;?Hardly we learn to ply the pen
ere Thought and Fancy faint with cold.
Hardly we find the path of love,
to sink the self, forget the ��I,��?When sad suspicion grips the heart,
when Man, the Man begins to die:
Hardly we scale the wisdom-heights,
and sight the Pisgah-scene around,?And breathe the breath of heav��enly air,
and hear the Spheres�� harmonious sound;
When swift the Camel-rider spans
the howling waste, by Kismet sped,?And of his Magic Wand a wave
hurries the quick to join the dead.*
? Death in Arabia rides a Camel, not a pale horse.
How sore the burden, strange the strife;
how full of splendour, wonder, fear;?Life, atom of that Infinite Space
that stretcheth ��twixt the Here and There.
How Thought is imp��otent to divine
the secret which the gods defend,?The Why of birth and life and death,
that Isis-veil no hand may rend.
Eternal Morrows make our Day;
our Is_ is aye _to be till when?Night closes in; ��tis all a dream,
and yet we die,��and then and THEN?
And still the Weaver plies his loom,
whose warp and woof is wretched Man?Weaving th�� unpattern��d dark design,
so dark we doubt it owns a plan.
Dost not, O Maker, blush to hear,
amid the storm of tears and blood,?Man say Thy mercy made what is,
and saw the made and said ��twas good?
The marvel is that man can smile
dreaming his ghostly ghastly dream;-?Better the heedless atomy
that buzzes in the morning beam!
O the dread pathos of our lives!
how durst thou, Allah, thus to play?With Love, Affection, Friendship, all
that shows the god in mortal clay?
But ah! what ��vaileth man to mourn;
shall tears bring forth what smiles ne��er brought;?Shall brooding breed a thought of joy?
Ah hush the sigh, forget the thought!
Silence thine immemorial quest,
contain thy nature��s vain complaint?None heeds, none cares for thee or thine;��
like thee how many came and went?
Cease, Man, to mourn, to weep, to wail;
enjoy thy shining hour of sun;?We dance along Death��s icy brink,
but is the dance less full of fun?
IV
What Truths hath gleaned that Sage consumed
by many a moon that waxt and waned??What Prophet-strain be his to sing?
What hath his old Experience gained?
There is no God, no man-made God;
a bigger, stronger, crueller man;?Black phantom of our baby-fears,
ere Thought, the life of Life, began.
Right quoth the Hindu Prince of old,*
��An Ishwara for one I nill,?Th�� almighty everlasting Good
who cannot ��bate th�� Eternal Ill:��
? Buddha.
��Your gods may be, what shows they are?��
hear China��s Perfect Sage declare;*?��And being, what to us be they
who dwell so darkly and so far?��
? Confucius.
��All matter hath a birth and death;
��tis made, unmade and made anew;?��We choose to call the Maker ��God��:��
such is the Zahid��s owly view.
��You changeful finite Creatures strain��
(rejoins the Drawer of the Wine)*?��The dizzy depths of Inf��inite Power
to fathom with your foot of twine��;
? The Soofi or Gnostic opposed to the Zahid.
��Poor idols of man��s heart and head
with the Divine Idea to blend;?��To preach as ��Nature��s Common Course��
what any hour may shift or end.��
��How shall the Shown