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God is great! His name is mighty !—I, alone, will seek the spring."

Moan ted on his strongest camel, Abdel-Hassan rode away, While his faithful followers watched him passing, in th» blaze of day,

Like a speck upon the desert, like a moving human hand, Where the fiery skies were sweeping down to meet the burning sand.

Passed he then their far horizon, and beyond it rode alone;— They alone with Arab patience, lay within its flaming zone. Day by day the servants waited, but the master never came,— Day by day, in feebler accents, called on Allah's holy name. One by one they killed the camels, loathing still the proffer

But in weakness or in frenzy slaked their burning thirst in

On unheeded heaps of treasure rested each unconscious head; Wh ile,wi t h pious care, the dyi ng st ruggled to entomb the dead. So they perished. Gaunt with famine, still did Haroun's trusty hand

For his latest dead companion scoop sepulture in the sand. Then he died; and pious nature, where he lay so gaunt and grim,

Moved by her divine compassion, did the same kind thing for him.

Earth upon her burning bosom held him in his final rest, While the hot winds of the desert piled the sand above his breast.—

Onward in his fiery travel Abdel-Hassan held his way,
Yielding to the camel's instinct, halting not, by night or day,
Till the faithful beast, exhausted in her fearful journey, fell,
With her eye upon the palm-trees rising o'er the lonely well:
With a faint, convulsive struggle,and a feeble moan, she died.
While her still surviving master lay unconscious by her side.
So he lay until the evening, when a passing caravan
From the dead incumbering camel brought to life the dying

Slowly murmured Abdel-Hassan, as they bathed his faint' ing head,

"All is lost, for all have perished!—they are numbered with the dead!

1, who had such power and treasure but a single moon ago, Now my life and poor subsistence to a stranger's bounty owe trod is great! His name is mighty! He is victor in the strife! Stripped of pride and power and substance, He hath left mo

faith ami life."— Sixty years had Abdel-Hassan, since the stranger's friendly


Saved him from the burning desert, lived and prospered in the land;




An<l his life of peaceful labor, in its pure and simple ways, For his loss fourfold returned him, and a mighty length ol days.

Sixty years of faith and patience gave him wisdom's mural crown;

Sons and daughters brought him honor with his riches and renown.

Men beheld his reverend aspect, and revered his blameless name;

And in peace he dwelt with strangers, in the fullness of his fame.

But the heart of Abdel-Hassan yearned, as yearns the heart of man,

Still to die among his kindred, ending life where it began. So he summoned all his household, and he gave the brief command:—

"Go and gather all our substance;—we depart from out the land?

Then they journeyed to the desert with a great and numerous tram,

To his old nomadic instinct trusting life and wealth again. It was now the sixth day's journey, when they met the moving sand,

On the great wind of the desert, driving o'er that arid land; And the air was red and fervid with the simoon's tiery breath; None could see his nearest fellow in the stifling blast of death. Blinded men, from prostrate camels, piled the stores to windward round,

And within the barrier herded, on the hot, unstable ground. Two whole days the great wind lasted, when the living of the train

From the hot drifts dug the camels and resumed their way again.

But the lines of care grew deeper on the master's swarthy cheek,

While around the weakest fainted and the strongest waxed weak;

And the water skins were empty, and a silent murmur ran from the faint, bewildered servants through the straggling caravan:

"Let the land we left be blessed!—that to which we go, accurst !—

From our pleasant wells of water came we here to die of thirst V'

But the master stilled the murmur with his steadfast, quiet eye :—

"God" is great," he said devoutlv,—" when He wills it, we shall die."

As be spake, he swept the desert with his vision clear and calm, And along the far horizon saw the green crest of the palm.


Man and boast, with weak steps quickened, hasted to the lonely well,

And around it, faint and panting, in a grateful tumult fell. Many days they stayed and rested, and amidst his fervent prayer

Abdel-Hassan pondered deeply that strange bond which held him there.

Then there came an aged stranger, journeying with bu caravan;

Vnd when each had each saluted, Abdel-Hassan thus began:— 'Knowest thou this well of water? lies it on the traveled ways?"

And he answered,—" From the highway thou art distant many days.

Where thou seest this well of water, where these thorns and

palm-trees stand, Once the desert swept unbroken in a waste of burning sand; There was neither life nor herbage, not a drop of water lay, All along the arid valley where thou seest this well to-day. Sixty years have wrought their changes since a mau of wealth

and pride,

With his servants and his camels, here amidst his riches, died. A.s we journeyed o'er the desert, dead beneath the blazing sky,

Here I saw them, beasts and masters, in a common burial lie; Thirty men and eighty camels did the shrouding sand enfold;

And wo gathered up their treasure, spices, precious stones, and gold;

Then we heaped the sand above them, and, beneath tho burning sun,

With a friendly care we finished what the winds had well begun.

Still I hold th.it master's treasure, and his record, and his name;

Long I waited for his kindred, but no kindred ever camo. Time, who beareth all things onward, hither bore our steps again,

When around this spot were scattered whitened bonesc*

beasts and men; And from out the heaving hillocks of the mingled sand and


Lo! the little palms were springing, which to-day are gro it and old.

From the shrubs we held the camels; for I felt that life of man,

Breaking to new forms . f being, through that tender herbage ran.

In the graves of men an1 "amels long the dates unheed"d lay, Till their germs of life commanded larger life from tluit decay, And the falling dews, arrested, nourished every tender shoot, While beneath, the hidden moisture gathered to each wandering root.

So they grew; and I have watched them, as we journeyed year by year;

And we digged this well beneath them, where thou seest it,

fresh and clear. Thus from waste and loss and sorrow still are joy and beauty


Like the fruitage of these palm-trees and the blossom of the thorn;

Life from death^ind good from evil!—from that buried caravan Springs the life to save the living, many a weak, despairing man."

As he ended, Abdel-Hassan, qui vering through his aged frame, Asked in accents, slow and broken, Knowest thou that master's name?"

He was known as Abdel-Hassan, filmed for wealth and power and pride;

But the proud have often fallen, and, as he, the great have died!"

Then, upon the ground before them, prostrate Abdel-Hassan fell,

With his aged hands extended, t rembling, to the lonely well,— And the sacred soil beneath him cast upon his hoary head,— Named the servants and the camels,—summoned Haroun

from the dead,— Clutched the unconscious palms around him, as if they were

living men,—

And before him, in their order, rose his buried train again. Moved by pity, spake the stranger, bending o'er him in his grief:—

"What affects the man of sorrow? Speak,—for speaking is relief."

Then he answered, risingslowly to that aged stranger's knee,— "Thou beholdest Abdel-Hassan! They were mine,and I am he!"

Wondering, stood they all around him, and a reverent silence kept,

While amidst them, Abdel-Hassan lifted up his voice and wept.

Joy and grief, and faith and triumph, mingled in his flowing tears;

Refluent on his patient spirit rolled the tide of sixty years.
As the past and present blended, lo! his larger vision saw,
In his own life's compensation, nature's universal law.
"God is good, O reverend stranger! He hath taught me of
His ways,

By thisgreatand crowning lesson, in the evening of my days.

"Keep the treasure,—I have plenty—and am richer that I see

Life ascend, through change and evil, to that perfect life to be; In each woe a blessing folded, from all loss a greater gain, Joy and hope from fear and sorrow, rest and peace from toil and pam.

God is great! His name in mighty! He is victor in the strife! For He bringeth good from evil, and from death commandeth life I"

BILL AND I.—G. H. Miles.

The moon had just gone down, sir,

But the stars lit up the sky;
All was still in tent and town, sir,

Not a foeman could we spy.
It was our turn at picket,
So we marched into the thicket,
To the music of the cricket
Chirping nigh.

Oh, we kept a sharp lookout, sir,

But no danger could we spy,
And no foeman being about, sir,

We sat down there, by-and-by;
And we watched the brook a-brawlin',
And counted the stars a-fallin',
Old memories ovcrhaulin',
Bill and I.

And says he," Won't it be glorious
When we throw our muskets by,

And home again, victorious,—
We hear our sweethearts crv,

'Welcome back I'" A step! Who goes there?

A shot—by heaven, the foe's there!

Bill wit there, all composure,
But not I.

By the red light of his gun, sir,

I marked the enemy:
In an instant it was done, sir—

I had fired and heard a cry.
I sprang across a stream, sir—
Oh, it seems just like a dream, sir,
The dizzv, dving gleam, sir,
Of that eye!

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