"Giver of life !" said Aómar, "I sought
Not this silver, but water alone
For ablution, that pure, as the prophet hath taught,
I might send up my prayers to thy throne !"
Casting the treasure among the sands,
Yet again the full crock doth he raise —
It is brimmed, not with water for worshipping hands,
But with gold of the ruddiest blaze !
"Hearer of prayer !" said this mortal meek,
As he poured the red gold on the earth,
"Not the wealth of this world, but pure water I seek,
That for Thee hath a holier worth !"
Yet once again from the well he drew,
And behold ! with a flash like the sun
At his rising, rich jewels, in gush ever new,
His rude pitcher of clay overrun.