THE LEGEND OF THE ARABS

It was upon a Lammas night
Two brothers woke and said,
As each upon the other's weal
Bethought him on his bed;

The elder spake unto his wife,
'Our brother dwells alone;
No little babes to cheer his life,
And helpmate hath he none.

'Up will I get and of my heap
A sheaf bestow or twain,
The while our Ahmed lies asleep,
And wots not of the gain.'

So up he got and did address
Himself with loving heed,
Before the dawning of the day,
To do that gracious deed.

Now to the younger, all unsought,
The same kind fancy came!

Nor wist they of each other's thought,
Though moved to the same.

'Abdullah he hath wife,' quoth he,
'And little babes also;

What would be slender boot to me
Would make his heart o'erflow.

'Up will I get, and of my heap
A sheaf bestow or twain;
The while he sweetly lies asleep,
And wots not of the gain.'

So up he got and did address
Himself with loving heed,
Before the dawning of the day,
To mate his brother's deed!

Thus played they oft their gracious parts,
And marvelled oft to view

Their sheaves still equal, for their hearts
In love were equal, too.

One morn they met, and, wondering, stood

To see by clear daylight

How each upon the other's good

Bethought him in the night.

So when this tale to him was brought,

The Caliph did decree,

Where twain had thought the same good thought,

There Allah's house should be.

C. TENNYSON-TURNER

ABOU BEN ADHEM

ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:-
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,

And to the presence in the room he said,

་

'What writest thou?'-The vision rais'd its head,

And with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answer'd,' The names of those who love the Lord.'

And is mine one?' said Abou. 'Nay, not so,'
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said, 'I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men.'

The angel wrote, and vanish'd. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

LEIGH HUNT

CALNAN'S CHRISTMAS

WHEN you hear the fire-gongs beat fierce along the startled street,

See the great-limbed horses bound, and the gleaming engine sway,

And the driver in his place, with his fixed heroic face, Say a prayer for Calnan's sake-he that died on

Christmas day!

Cling! Cling! Each to his station! Clang! Clang! Quick to clear the way!

(Christ keep the soldiers of salvation, Fighting nameless battles in the war of every day!)

In the morning blue and mild, of the Mother and the Child,

While the blessed bells were calling, thrilled the summons through the wire;

In the morning blue and mild, for a woman and a child Died a man of gentle will, plunging on to fight the fire.

Ring, swing, bells in the steeple!

Ring the Child and ring the Star, as sweetly as ye may! Ring, swing, bells, to tell the people

God's good will to earthly men, the men of every day!

Thirty-four' swung out agleam, with her mighty, bounding team;

Horses' honor pricked them on, and they leaped as at a goad;

Jimmy Calnan in his place, with his clean-cut Irish face, Iron hands upon the reins, eyes a-strain upon the road. Clang! Clang! Quick to clear the way! (Sweetly rang, above the clang, the bells of Christmas. day.)

Tearing, plunging through the din, scarce a man can hold them in;

None on earth could pull them short: Mary Mother, guard from harm

Yonder woman straight ahead, stony-still with sudden

dread,

And the little woman-child, with her waxen child in

arm!

Oh, God's calls, how swift they are! Oh, the Cross that hides the Star!

Oh, the fire-gong beating fierce through the bells of Christmas day!

Just a second there to choose, and a life to keep or loseTo the curb he swung the horses, and he flung his life away!

Ring, swing, bells in the steeple!

Ring the Star and ring the Cross, for Star and Cross are one!

Ring, swing, bells, to tell the people

God is pleased with manly men, and deeds that they have done!

HELEN GRAY CONE

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:

A mile or so away,

On a little mound, Napoleon

Stood on our storming-day;

With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,

Legs wide, arms lock'd behind,

As if to balance the prone brow

Oppressive with its mind.