University of Virginia Library

Through wastes of sand the train of camels wound
Their lingering way. The pilgrims, hasting on
To Mecca's shrine, were grieved and vexed at heart,
Impatient of delay. The scorching sand
Lay hot and blinding round them, and the blast
Of sultry winds, as from a furnace mouth,
Brought blackness to all faces. Whirling clouds
Of white dust filled their eyes, and, falling flat,
Crouching in fear, they waited till it passed.
Then, lifting up their eyes, there met their gaze
One fierce, hot glare, a waveless sea of sand.
No track of pilgrims' feet, nor whitening bones
Of camels or of asses, marked their way.
They wandered on, by sun and moon and stars
Guessing their path, not knowing where they went,
But Mecca's shrine they saw not. Day by day,
Their scant stores scantier grew. Their camels died;
No green oasis met their yearning eyes;
No rippling stream brought gladness to their hearts;
But glittering lakes that sparkled in the light,
Girt with the soft, green tufts of feathery palm,
Enticed them, hour by hour, to wander on,
And, as they neared them, turned to wastes of sand.
They thirsted, and with looks of blank despair
Beheld the emptied skins. One only, borne
By Ka'ab's camel, met their wistful gaze,—
Ka'ab, the rich, the noble, he who knew
The depths of [OMITTED], unto Allah's will
Resigning all his soul. And now he showed
How out of that submission flows the strength
For noblest acts of love. That priceless store
He claimed not as his own: the ‘mine’ and ‘thine’
Of selfish right he scattered to the winds,
And to his fellow-pilgrims offered all.
They shared it all alike. To Ka'ab's self
And Ka'ab's slave an equal portion came:
“Allah is great,” he cried, about to drink
With thankful adoration, when a wail
Of eager craving burst from parchèd lips,
And upturned eyes with fevered anguish watched
The precious life-draught. Ka'ab heard that cry,
His eye beheld that anguish, and his heart
Was stirred with pity. Tasting not a drop,
With calm and loving look he passed the cup
To those poor dying lips, and bore his thirst,
As martyrs bear their flames. His soul had learnt,
Not Islam's creed alone that God is great:
A mightier name was written on his heart,
“God, the compassionate, the merciful;”
And yielding up his will to God's, the three,
Compassion, mercy, greatness, were as one.

So ends the tale. And whether death came soon
As sleep's twin-brother, with the longed-for rest,
And clear, bright streams in Paradise refreshed
The fevered thirsts of earth; or if the dawn
Revealed the distant gleam of Mecca's shrine,
And led those pilgrims on to Zemzem's fount.
We know not. This we know, that evermore,
Like living water from the flinty rock,
Gladdening the hearts of Hagar's sons, as once
God's angel helped the mother and her child,
The memory of that noble deed flows on,
And quickens into life each fainting heart,
And through long ages, in each Arab's tent
It passed into a proverb—“Ka'ab's deed
Of noble goodness:—There is none like that.”