for God's own warrior train,
Who bleed for his cause, nor flinch from pain.
'Tis written in white the eighth above:
For those who instruct for Allah's love {10}.
For ye who serve God with heart and eye,
Control your passions when swelling high,
Your parents cherish and all your race,
For ye are the halls of joy and grace;
For the prophets of God are they decreed,
Who His law in the sacred volumes read.

O LORD! I NOTHING CRAVE BUT THEE.

From the Tartar.

O thou, from whom all love doth flow,
Whom all the world doth reverence so,
Thou constitut'st each care I know;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.

O keep me from each sinful way;
Thou breathedst life within my clay,
I'll therefore serve Thee, night and day;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.

I ope my eyes and see Thy face,
On Thee my musings all I place,
I've left my parents, friends and race;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.

Take Thou my soul, my every thing,
My blood from out its vessels wring,
Thy slave am I, and Thou my King;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.

I speak--my tongue on Thee doth roam;
I list--the winds Thy title boom;
For in my soul has God His home;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.

The world the shallow worldling craves,
And greatness need ambitious knaves,
The lover of his maiden raves;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.

The student needs his bookish lore,
The bigot shrines, to pray before,
His pulpit needs the orator;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.

Though all the learning 'neath the skies,
And th' houries all of paradise,
The Lord should place before my eyes,
O Lord! I'd nothing crave but Thee.

When I through paradise shall stray,
Its houries and delights survey,
Full little gust awake will they,
O Lord! I'll nothing crave but Thee.

For Hadgee Ahmed is my name,
My heart with love of God doth flame,
Here and above I'll bide the same;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.

MYSTICAL POEM.

Relating to the worship of the Great Foutsa or Buddh.
From the Tibetian.

Should I Foutsa's force and glory,
Earth's protector, all unfold,
Through more years would last my story
Than has Ganges sands of gold.
Him the fitting reverence showing
For a minute's period e'en,
Bringeth blessing overflowing
Unto heaven and man, I ween.
If from race of man descended,
Or from that of dragon-sprite,
When thy prior course {13} is ended,
Thou in evil paths shouldst light,--