He was admired by colleagues, envied by other thieves, and feared by the multitudes.

His riches and false position prevailed upon the Emir to appoint him deputy in that city—the sad process pursued by unwise governors. Thefts were then legalized; oppression was supported by authority; crushing of the weak became commonplace; the throngs curried and praised.

Thus does the first touch of humanity’s selfishness make criminals of the humble, and make killers of the sons of peace; thus does the early greed of humanity grow and strike back at humanity a thousandfold!

HAVE MERCY ON ME,
MY SOUL!

WHY ARE you weeping, my Soul?

Knowest thou my weakness?

Thy tears strike sharp and injure,

For I know not my wrong.

Until when shalt thou cry?

I have naught but human words

To interpret your dreams,

Your desires, and your instructions.

Look upon me, my Soul; I have

Consumed my full life heeding

Your teachings. Think of how

I suffer! I have exhausted my

Life following you.

My heart was glorying upon the

Throne, but is now yoked in slavery;

My patience was a companion, but

Now contends against me;

My youth was my hope, but

Now reprimands my neglect.

Why, my Soul, are you all-demanding?

I have denied myself pleasure

And deserted the joy of life

Following the course which you

Impelled me to pursue.

Be just to me, or call Death

To unshackle me,

For justice is your glory.

Have mercy on me, my Soul.

You have laden me with Love until

I cannot carry my burden. You and

Love are inseparable might; Substance

And I are inseparable weakness.

Will e’er the struggle cease

Between the strong and the weak?

Have mercy on me, my Soul.

You have shown me Fortune beyond

My grasp. You and Fortune abide on

The mountain top; Misery and I are

Abandoned together in the pit of

The valley. Will e’er the mountain

And the valley unite?

Have mercy on me, my Soul.

You have shown me Beauty, but then

Concealed her. You and Beauty live

In the light; Ignorance and I are

Bound together in the dark. Will

E’er the light invade darkness?

Your delight comes with the Ending,

And you revel now in anticipation;

But this body suffers with life

While in life.

This, my Soul, is perplexing.

You are hastening toward Eternity,

But this body goes slowly toward

Perishment. You do not wait for him,

And he cannot go quickly.

This, my Soul, is sadness.

You ascend high, through heaven’s

Attraction, but this body falls by

Earth’s gravity. You do not console

Him, and he does not appreciate you.

This, my Soul, is misery.

You are rich in wisdom, but this

Body is poor in understanding.

You do not compromise

And he does not obey.

This, my Soul, is extreme suffering.

In the silence of the night you visit

The Beloved and enjoy the sweetness of

His presence. This body ever remains

The bitter victim of hope and separation.

This, my Soul, is agonizing torture.

Have mercy on me, my Soul!

THE WIDOW AND HER SON

NIGHT fell over North Lebanon and snow was covering the villages surrounded by the Kadeesha Valley, giving the fields and prairies the appearance of a great sheet of parchment upon which the furious Nature was recording her many deeds. Men came home from the streets while silence engulfed the night.

In a lone house near those villages lived a woman who sat by her fireside spinning wool, and at her side was her only child, staring now at the fire and then at his mother.

A terrible roar of thunder shook the house and the little boy took fright. He threw his arms about his mother, seeking protection from Nature in her affection. She took him to her bosom and kissed him; then she sat him on her lap and said, “Do not fear, my son, for Nature is but comparing her great power to man’s weakness. There is a Supreme Being beyond the falling snow and the heavy clouds and the blowing wind, and He knows the needs of the earth, for He made it; and He looks upon the weak with merciful eyes.

“Be brave, my boy. Nature smiles in Spring and laughs in Summer and yawns in Autumn, but now she is weeping; and with her tears she waters life, hidden under the earth.

“Sleep, my dear child; your father is viewing us from Eternity. The snow and thunder bring us closer to him at this time.

“Sleep, my beloved, for this white blanket which makes us cold, keeps the seeds warm, and these warlike things will produce beautiful flowers when Nisan comes.

“Thus, my child, man cannot reap love until after sad and revealing separation, and bitter patience, and desperate hardship. Sleep, my little boy; sweet dreams will find your soul who is unafraid of the terrible darkness of night and the biting frost.”

The little boy looked upon his mother with sleep-laden eyes and said, “Mother, my eyes are heavy, but I cannot go to sleep without saying my prayer.”

The woman looked at his angelic face, her vision blurred by misted eyes, and said, “Repeat with me, my boy—‘God, have mercy on the poor and protect them from the winter; warm their thin-clad bodies with Thy merciful hands; look upon the orphans who are sleeping in wretched houses, suffering from hunger and cold. Hear, oh Lord, the call of widows who are helpless and shivering with fear for their young. Open, oh Lord, the hearts of all humans, that they may see the misery of the weak. Have mercy upon the sufferers who knock on doors, and lead the wayfarers into warm places. Watch, oh Lord, over the little birds and protect the trees and fields from the anger of the storm; for Thou art merciful and full of love.’”

As Slumber captured the boy’s spirit, his mother placed him in the bed and kissed his eyes with quivering lips. Then she went back and sat by the hearth, spinning the wool to make him raiment.

EVENTIDE OF THE FEAST

NIGHT had fallen and obscurity engulfed the city while the lights glittered in the palaces and the huts and the shops. The multitudes, wearing their festive raiment, crowded the streets and upon their faces appeared the signs of celebration and contentment.

I avoided the clamour of the throngs and walked alone, contemplating the Man Whose greatness they were honouring, and meditating the Genius of the Ages Who was born in poverty, and lived virtuously, and died on the Cross.

I was pondering the burning torch which was lighted in this humble village in Syria by the Holy Spirit.… The Holy Spirit Who hovers over all the ages, and penetrates one civilization and then another through His truth.

As I reached the public garden, I seated myself on a rustic bench and commenced looking between the naked trees toward the crowded streets; I listened to the hymns and songs of the celebrants.

After an hour of deep thinking, I looked sidewise and was surprised to find a man sitting by me, holding a short branch with which he engraved vague figures on the ground. I was startled, for I had not seen nor heard his approach, but I said within myself, “He is solitary, as I am.” And after looking thoroughly at him, I saw that in spite of his old-fashioned raiment and long hair, he was a dignified man, worthy of attention. It seemed that he detected the thoughts within me, for in a deep and quiet voice he said, “Good evening, my son.”

“Good evening to you,” I responded with respect.

And he resumed his drawing while the strangely soothing sound of his voice was still echoing in my ears. And I spoke to him again, saying, “Are you a stranger in this city?”

“Yes, I am a stranger in this city and every city,” he replied. I consoled him, adding, “A stranger should forget that he is an outsider in these holidays, for there is kindness and generosity in the people.” He replied wearily, “I am more a stranger in these days than in any other.” Having thus spoken, he looked at the clear skies; his eyes probed the stars and his lips quivered as if he had found in the firmament an image of a distant country. His queer statement aroused my interest, and I said, “This is the time of the year when the people are kind to all other people. The rich remember the poor and the strong have compassion for the weak.”

He returned, “Yes, the momentary mercy of the rich upon the poor is bitter, and the sympathy of the strong toward the weak is naught but a reminder of superiority.”

I affirmed, “Your words have merit, but the weak poor do not care to know what transpires in the heart of the rich, and the hungry never think of the method by which the bread he is craving is kneaded and baked.”

And he responded, “The one who receives is not mindful, but the one who gives bears the burden of cautioning himself that it is with a view to brotherly love, and toward friendly aid, and not to self-esteem.”

I was amazed at his wisdom, and again commenced to meditate upon his ancient appearance and strange garments.