COLD WATER.
115
On his swift courser—o'er the burning wild,
The Arab cometh. From his eager eye
Flashes desire. Seeks he the sparkling wine
Giving its golden colour to the cup?
No!—to the gushing spring he flies, and deep
Buries his scorching lip and laves his brow,
And blesses Allah.
Christian pilgrim, come!
Thy brother of the Koran's broken creed
Doth teach thee wisdom, and with courteous hand
Nature, thy mother, holds the crystal cup
And bids thee pledge her in the element
Of temperance and health.
Drink and be whole,
And purge the fever-poison from thy veins,
And pass in purity and peace, to taste
The river flowing from the throne of God.
