THE PROPHET
Out of Egypt hither we flew,
Through the desert and rocky places;
The people murmur'd, and all look'd blue,
The bones of the martyr'd filled our traces.
Mountain and valley we crawl'd along,
And every morning our hearts beat quicker.
Our flesh was weak, but our souls were strong.
And we'd managed to carry some kegs of
liquor.
At last we halted on yonder height,
Just as the sun in the west was blinking.