135 ABOU BEN ADHEM Abou Ben Adhem-may his tribe increase!- Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, "What writest Thou?" The vision raised its head, And with a look all made of sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those that love the Lord." The angel wrote and vanished. The next night And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. LEIGH HUNT 136 ABRAM AND ZIMRI Abram and Zimri owned a field together A level field hid in a happy vale; They plowed it with one plow, and in the spring In harvest, when the glad earth smiled with grain, But Zimri dwelt alone within his house. One night, before the sheaves were gathered in, As Zimri lay upon his lonely bed And counted in his mind his little gains, So he arose, and girded up his loins, And went out softly to the level field; The moon shone out from dusky bars of clouds, The trees stood black against the cold blue sky, The branches waved and whispered in the wind. So Zimri, guided by the shifting light, Went down the mountain path, and found the field, Took from his store of sheaves a generous third, Now, that same night, as Abram lay in bed, I will arise, and gird myself, and go So he arose and girded up his loins, The dark leaves waved and whispered in the breeze; So the next morning, with the early sun, Now the next night went Zimri to the field, Took from his store of sheaves a generous share, And placed them on his brother Abram's heap, And then lay down behind his pile to watch. The moon looked out from bars of silvery cloud, The cedars stood up black against the sky, The olive branches whispered in the wind. Then Abram came down softly from his home, And, looking to the right and left, went on; Took from his ample store a generous third, And laid it on his brother Zimri's pile. Then Zimri rose and caught him in his arms, And wept upon his neck, and kissed his cheek; And Abram saw the whole, and could not speak, Neither could Zimri. So they walked along Back to their homes, and thanked their God in prayer That He had bound them in such loving bands. CLARENCE COOK 137 ONLY A JEW In Brittany, fair land, long years ago, Despised and desolate, whose records show Their old inheritance of wrong; who were In that city of joy, Heav'n-chosen child, whom none to harm might dare, Lived one who did as if his God stood near, Slow to give answer, ever swift to hear; Walking alone, or watching through the night, Would wax alway Wiser and better and nearer to the light. And in this land a mother lost her child, With crucifying him, who calmly smiled Have slain," quoth she, "to keep your Passover, "Your wit must fail; An idle tale Is this; what proof thereof can you prefer?" |