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THE BLACK STONE OF THE KA'BA, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Now out great father, abraham, was fain his son to see
Last Line: But allah's love and tenderness beam through the blackness yet!'
Alternate Author Name(s): Dean
Subject(s): Abraham; Arabs; God; Story-telling


This is the tale the Arabs tell,
By the lean tents far on the desert's rim,
When the fires burn low, and the pipes are lit,
And the palms by the well are growing dim.

'NOW our great Father, Abraham, was fain his son to see —
Ishmael, heir of the Arab land, and free as the wind is free —
(An evil eye had Sarah cast on the brave lad elder born,
So only Canaan's narrow fields were Isaac's, through her scorn)
And forth from the oaks of Mamre he fared with a stately train,
His camels all of the noblest breed from the river to the main;
And gifts of goodly raiment, and silver and gold he bore
To his wandering child of the waste and wild, beloved for evermore;
And messengers sped before him his kingly son to tell
"Thy father waits at Allah's House, by Zemzem's bounteous well."
For the Lord had shown him in visions the Ka'ba prone, defiled,
And bid him build it fair again, he and his Arab child —
The Ka'ba, earth's most holy shrine, whose stones the angels piled.
So, under the cool of the morning star, under the moonlight's play,
Halting by palm or sheltering rock in the fervid heat of day,
He held his course to the ruined Shrine, down Mecca's ancient way.

'A fleet brown mare had Ishmael won from a herd of desert rovers —
A tameless herd that kept the heights, the dales, the acacia covers,
Till Ishmael wooed them to the tents and man and horse were lovers.
By Allah! a prince of men was he from his light foot to his crown,
As straight he rode to the Meccan vale on his mare so fleet and brown!
The lizard darted from his path, gazelle and ostrich fled,
And the muttering Jinns in the caves were still when they heard his echoing
tread.
And just as the sun dropped into the sea and the bare hills caught its glow,
He saw the Ka'ba's ruined shrine and the Hebron tents below!
Praise to the God of Abraham, their hearts had beat as one;
And O the joy of their meeting — great father and great son!

'They hold the vale; their servitors, the rare stones of the hills
Have brought to build the Shrine again, as the God they worship wills;
And daily higher rise the walls, and nightly chants of praise
Go up to the Lord in Paradise for all His gracious ways —
To Paradise just over the Shrine and almost in their gaze.
At evening, after a burning day, they sat in the tent's wide door,
And talked of the fateful years gone by and the wondrous good in store.
Couched on the sands the camels slept; a young moon charmed the sky;
And Zemzem's living waters fell with soothing murmur nigh; —
When lo! from heaven there leapt a flame bright as the blaze of noon,
With the rush and thrill of the lightning's path or the sweep of the hot simoon,
And an awful rending crash that rolled in thunder peals away —
Was it the trumpet of the Lord and the break of the Judgment Day?
And then to the tent there fell a stone, a stone without a stain,
Pure as the pearl the diver brings from the deep by lone Bahrein! —
Our Father Abraham sank to earth; Ishmael was on his knees;
Was life or death the meaning hid in these dread mysteries?
And reverently hour after hour they waited for a word,
But darkness slowly drew to dawn, and the only sound they heard
Was the sigh of the night wind up the vale or the note of a waking bird.
Then shone, undimmed, the morning star, and over the Persian sea,
The sun in rose and molten gold came up full gloriously,
And when his rays had lit the walls — O marvel of God's grace!
The song of the angels floated down and filled the sacred place —
So pure, so rich, so ravishing, they dreamed they saw God's face!
And they knew the Stone that fell from heaven was a token of love divine,
And with raptured hearts and eager hands they built it into the Shrine!

'Next year we make the pilgrimage, come flood or fire or frost,
And kiss the Ka'ba's holy Stone though its fair tint is lost;
For through the countless ages gone such bitter tears have wet —
Such erring lips its oval pressed — the pearl has turned to jet!
But Allah's love and tenderness beam through the blackness yet!'





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