Lesson Of Submission

BEN YOUSSUF, bound to Mecca, day by day
Toiled bravely o'er the desert's fiery way,
Till its hot sands and flint-sown courses sore
Pressed on the broidered sandals which he wore,
Scorching and cutting! at the last they fell
Loosely abroad;--he seemed to fare through hell,
So blistering now, the flame-hued rocks and dust:--
"O mighty Allah! "cried he, "art thou just,
To let thy faithful pilgrim, serving thee,
Pass onward, thus, in nameless agony?"
With bitter thoughts and half-rebellious mind
He left, at length, the desert sands behind,
And still in that dark temper--far from grace--
Went where his brethren midst the holy place
Kneeled, by the Caäba's sanctity enthralled;--
Lo! there he marked a smitten wretch who crawled
Nearer the shrine, on bleeding hands and knees,
Yet his deep eyes were stars of prayer and peace;--
And ah, how Youssuf's heart remorseful beat,
To find he lacked not only shoes, but--feet!