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And blood-revenge. All, all is peaceful now.
Yon herbless plains lie basking in the sun,
Yon dark-browed mountains frown in solitude.
The patient camels pasturing on the hills
Proclaim the reign of Peace ; bare-headed men
In pilgrim-weeds attest the reign of Faith
Upon the sands below. All, all is still.
The scene must have made him conscious of
perfect peace in his own heart. He felt it in full
measure when nearing Mecca:
The barren sands, the herbless hills have changed
Their aspect grim, and smile on us like friends !
Ah ! how they spread their arms to welcome all
Whom faith has taught the Pilgrim's weeds to wear-
Who, shrouded like the dead in cloths unsewn
(Beggar and king alike) have come from far,
From every corner of the living world
Where Islam holds its sway 1 Yes, they have come
And they will come until this earth shall last,
Men, women, children—some infirm and old,
Some weak and ailing, less alive than dead ;
All all of them by fervent faith inspired,
And by the love of him who taught them faith :
The man whose name is as a fount of light
In every Muslim's heart: the man of men,
The Warner he, the Prophet God-ordained,
Who led mankind from darkness unto light.
And from this high level he glances at Islamic
equality :
Here men are equal, and God's subjects they.
Here, on these sands, beneath this burning sky
Equality is not a man-made creed,
A specious theme on revolution's lips.
It is no institution but a feeling—
An instinct and an impulse of the heart.