LVIII.

Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, And who with Eden didst devise the Snake; For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give--and take

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KUZA-NAMA

Listen again. One evening at the Close Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose, In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone With the clay Population round in Rows.

And, strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot Some could articulate, while others not: And suddenly one more impatient cried-- «Who _is_ the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?»

Then said another--«Surely not in vain My substance from the common Earth was ta'en, That he who subtly wrought me into Shape Should stamp me back to common Earth again.»

Another said--«Why, ne'er a peevish Boy, Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy; Shall He that _made_ the Vessel in pure Love And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy!»

None answer'd this; but after Silence spake A vessel of a more ungainly Make: «They sneer at me for leaning all awry; What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?»

Said one--«Folks of a surly Tapster tell, And daub his Visage with the smoke of Hell; They talk of some strict Testing of us--Pish! He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well.»

Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh, «My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry: But, fill me with the old familiar Juice, Methinks I might recover by-and-bye!»