When the hoary Hebrew thus was questioned,
For a while he deeply mused, then answered:
“Mighty ruler, true, our books hold wisdom,
Yet they do not answer every query.
Our scholars do know many secrets
But the Omniscient alone can know all;
He who ever rules the earth and heaven,
Who beholds all things and who outlives
Time itself and nations and their rulers.
He is nameless; no one e’er can see him;
He is everywhere . . . Then what can I know?
I will tell a story, won’t you please listen
To an old man’s oft repeated story . . . .
Once upon a time there lived a merchant
With three sons he loved with same devotion,
And he had a ring, a rare old jewel,
Set with stones unmatched in all creation.
This old jewel, each son sorely wanted,
Each would have it, each one begged and pleaded
That it be included with his heirloom.
So the father called a famous goldsmith:
“Master, make two rings in every detail
To be the same in workmanship and rareness
As this ring that I have on my finger.”
When the goldsmith brought the rings he fashioned,
They were so alike in every detail,
That the father’s eyes alone detected
Which among them was the first and true ring.
Then he called his oldest son before him
And presented him one ring, beseaching
That he not reveal this to his brothers,
Thus to spare them envy, aches and sorrow . . .
Next in turn his second son he spoke to
And with kindly words one ring he gave him,
Asking that he not reveal this token.
And the last son’s ring was thus presented . . .
When the father died, the brothers parted
Each one with his ring and each one thinking
That his was the true and only jewel.
Mighty ruler, thus ’tis with religion.
You with your ring live in sheer contentment . . .
I with mine . . . the Christian with the third one . . .
And only our Father up in heaven
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