Poems (Proctor)/El Mahdi to the Tribes of the Soudan

by Edna Dean Proctor

EL MAHDI TO THE TRIBES OF THE SOUDAN.⁵ (1884.)

I have heard the voice of the Lord
 As the Prophet heard, of old;
For me have the blessed angels
 The Book of Fate unrolled;
Gabriel, holiest, highest,
 Flashed to my cave, from the sky,
And cried, as the dawn illumed the east,
 "Wake! for the end is nigh!
Speed! for 'tis thine to save the saints
 And their proud oppressors slay,
And to fill the earth with righteousness
 Before the Judgment-Day!"

Then he was gone as the lightning goes;
 And my heart leapt up as flame;
And forth I rushed to the Holy War
 For the glory of Allah's name!
And rippling river and rustling reeds
 And the wind of the desert sighing,
Echoed his cry as I passed them by,
 "Speed! for the hours are flying!"
The sunbeams shone like lances keen
 Across the Meccan plain;
 The roar of hosts was in my ears,
Their fury in my brain,
 And I vowed to the God of the Faithful
His Prophet alone should reign!

 Now who is on the side of God
To fight this fight with me,—
 To break the ranks of the Infidels
And hurl them back to the sea,
 And all this tortured, trampled land
From greed and spoil to free?
 This land where the bitter cry goes up
From even the lips of the dumb:
 "Mata yathar El Mahdi—
When will the Mahdi come? "'
 Who yearns for bliss in Paradise?
Who fears eternal flame?
 Let him follow me to the Holy War
For the glory of Allah's name!
 Leave your flocks on the grassy hills
Of cool Atbara's stream;
 Under the palms by the lonely wells
No more at noontide dream;
 From Nile's fair groves and uplands,
From meadow and marsh and mere,
 Throng to the Crescent banner
With lance and shield and spear!
 Come on your flying stallions
From lordly Darfur's side;
 Bold from Sahara's burning depths
On your swift camels ride;
The sun by day shall bid you speed,
 By night each guiding star,
Through the thorny wastes of Kordofan,
 The wide plains of Sennaar!
And from Fez and far Morocco,
 From Yemen and Hejaz,—
For round the world to the Faithful,
 This fire of God shall blaze—
And from the realms of the Indian sea,
 And isles of spice and balm,
Shall a thousand thousand hither haste
 For the glory of Islam!

And as in the valley of Bedr,
 When the Moslems charged the foe,
The angels stooped to the stormy pass
 And laid the faithless low,
So shall they watch my standard,
 And all along our line
Will hover their shining legions
 And the battle be divine!
For Azrael, the Death-angel,
 With a banner made of light,
And eyes that burn like the star of morn,
 Will lead us in the fight.
And should you fall in the conflict,—
 O glorious, glad surprise!
White-winged camels will bear you thence
 To the bowers of Paradise!
Up to the crystal fountains
 And the feast of the Tuba tree,
The songs of Israfil to hear,
 The face of God to see!

Allah! I long for the onset!
 Moslems! welcome the day
When forth in the rosy dawn we sweep
 As victors to the fray!
For fierce as the lion leaping
 At night from his woody lair;
Dread as the hot simoom whose breath
 No living thing may dare;
Strong as the sun when he mounts the sky
 To bathe in the western sea—
So fierce, to the godless of the earth,
 So dread, so strong are we!
And by the soul of Mohammed—
 Nay, by the Throne of God—
The Infidel and the Spoiler
 Shall into the dust be trod,
And away by the winds of heaven
 As worthless chaff be blown,
And the Prophet and true Believers
 Shall rule in the earth alone!