BOOK I.
Niloiya said to Noah, "What aileth thee, My master, unto whom is my desire, The father of my sons ?" He answered her, "Mother of many children, I have heard The Voice again." "Ah, me!" she saith, "ah, me! What spake it ?" and with that Niloiya sighed.
This when the Master-builder heard, his heart Was sad in him, the while he sat at home And rested after toil.

The steady rap O' the shipwright's hammer sounding up the vale Did seem to mock him; but her distaff down Niloiya laid, and to the doorplace went, Parted the purple covering seemly hung Before it, and let in the crimson light Of the descending sun.

Then looked he forth,-- Looked, and beheld the hollow where the ark Was a-preparing; where the dew distilled All night from leaves of old lign aloe-trees, Upon the gliding river; where the palm, The almug, and the gophir shot their heads Into the crimson brede that dyed the world: And lo! he marked--unwieldy, dark, and huge--The ship, his glory and his grief,--too vast For that still river's floating,--building far From mightier streams, amid the pastoral dells Of shepherd kings.
Niloiya spake again: "What said the Voice, thou well-beloved man ?" He, laboring with his thought that troubled him, Spoke on behalf of God: "Behold," said he, "A little handful of unlovely dust He fashioned to a lordly grace, and when He laughed upon its beauty, it waxed warm, And with His breath awoke a living soul.
"Shall not the Fashioner command His work?
And who am I, that, if He whisper, 'Rise, Go forth upon Mine errand,' should reply, 'Lord, God, I love the woman and her sons,--I love not scorning: I beseech Thee, God, Have me excused.'" She answered him, "Tell on." And he continuing, reasoned with his soul: "What though I,--like some goodly lama sunk In meadow grass, eating her way at ease, Unseen of them that pass, and asking not A wider prospect than of yellow-flowers That nod above her head,--should lay me down, And willingly forget this high behest, There should be yet no tarrying.

Furthermore, Though I went forth to cry against the doom, Earth crieth louder, and she draws it down: It hangeth balanced over us; she crieth, And it shall fall.

O! as for me, my life Is bitter, looking onward, for I know That in the fulness of the time shall dawn That day: my preaching shall not bring forth fruit, Though for its sake I leave thee.