XX. "Produce ! says Nature,—what have you produced ? A new straitwaistcoat for the human mind; Are you not limbed, nerved, jointed, arteried, juiced As other men ? yet, faithless to your kind, Rather like noxious insects you are used To puncture life's fair fruit, beneath the rind Laying your creed-eggs whence in time there spring Consumers new to eat and buzz and sting. XXI. a "Work! you have no conception how 'twill sweeten Your views of Life and Nature, God and Man; Had you been fr:ced to earn what you have eaten, Your heaven had shown a lesss dyspeptic plan; At present your whole function is to eat ten Were your shape true to cosmogonic laws, XXII. “Of all the useless beings in creation The earth could spare most easily you bakers Of little clay gods, formed in shape and fashion Precisely in the age of their makers; Why, it would almost move a saint to passion, Of God's own image in their brother men, XXIII. “Of God's existence, one's digestion's worseSo makes a god of vengeance and of blood; Another—but no matter, they reverse Creation's plan, out of their own vile mud Pat up a god, and burn, drown, hang, or curse Of texts which wait with saddle on and bridle XXIV. "This, I perceive, has been your occupation; You should have been more usefully employed; All men are bound to earn their daily ration, By cramps and limits; simple devastation His monument; creating is mau's work XXV. Cried, “That was aimed at thee, thou endless bore, A rotting tree-trunk !” “I would square that score Full soon,” replied the Dervise, "could I cross over And catch thee by the beard ! Thy nails I'd trim XXVI. “Work? Am I not at work from morn till night Sounding the deeps of oracles umbilical Which for man's guidance never come to light, With all their various aptitudes, until I call ?” “And I, do I not twirl from left to right For conscience sake ? Is that no work? Thou silly gull, He had thee in his eye; 'twas Gabriel XXVII. “ 'Twas Vishnu, thou vile whirligig!” and so The good old quarrel was begun anew ; One would have sworn the sky was black as sloe, Had but the other dared to call it blue; Nor were the followers who fed them slow Each hating 'tother (moves it tears or laughter ? XXVIII. At last some genius built a bridge of boats Over the stream, and Ahmed's zealots filed Across, upon a mission to (cut throats And) spread religion pure and undefiled; They sowed the propagandist's wildest oats, And came back, giving thanks for such fat mercies, XXIX. All gone except their saint's religious hops, But these, however satisfying crops The body politic, which quickly drops So Ahmed soon got cursed for all the famine XXX. At first he pledged a miracle quite boldly, But, finding that this kind of manna coldly The saint for still persisting in that old lie, Till soon the whole machine of saintship grated, Ran slow, creaked, stopped, and, wishing him in Tophet, They gathered strength enough to stone the prophet. XXXI. Some stronger ones contrived (by eating leather, Their weaker friends, and one thing or another), The winter months of scarcity to weather ; Among these was the late saint's younger brother, Who, in the spring, collecting them together, Had wrought in their behalf, and that the place XXXII. Accordingly 'twas settled on the spot Beside, as all were satisfied, 'twould not Of public spiritual food forgot; That he, and, failing him, his next of kin, |