Chapter CII

My life's the road on which I blindly speed: My goal's the grave on which I plant a reed To shape my Hope, but soon the Hand unseen Will strike, and lo! I'm but a sapless weed.

CIII

O Rabbi, curse us not if we have been Nursed in the shadow of the Gate of Sin Built by thy hand--yea, ev'n thine angels blink When we are coming out and going in.

CIV

And like the dead of Ind I do not fear To go to thee in flames; the most austere Angel of fire a softer tooth and tongue Hath he than dreadful Munker and Nakir.

CV

Now, at this end of Adam's line I stand Holding my father's life-curse in my hand, Doing no one the wrong that he did me:-- Ah, would that he were barren as the sand!

CVI

Ay, thus thy children, though they sovereigns be, When truth upon them dawns, will turn on thee, Who cast them into life's dark labyrinth Where even old Izrail can not see.