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freshed, as parched lips by the drops of the fountain.
Truly, said Havilah, the night has beauties as rich and mysteries as great as the day.
Here, said his friend, is no motion and no sound but the gushing of streams and the murmur of our voices. If the panther rustles in the thicket, it is where no human ear is startled at his approach: if the eye balls of the lion glare, it is afar off in the desert, where none but the beasts of the field crouch and tremble before him. We are alone; for if other eyes look abroad upon the night from the roofs of the city, or beside the watchfires of the plain, they behold not us as we sit within the shadow. We are alone with Him to whom the night is as the day.
Havilah replied, With Him and with his messengers, who rest not night or day. Think not, my friend, that there is no motion where all to us is still; that there is no sound where our sense catches not the echo of music. If our sight could penetrate further than that tract of light which crosses the heaven, we might behold how Gabriel[1] records the divine decrees,
2‡
