Breaking The Idol

With a hard flint stone, like the Friend, as she spoke, In a thousand pieces the image she broke. Riven and shattered the idol fell, And with her from that moment shall all be well. She made her ablution, 'mid penitent sighs, With the blood of her heart and the tears of her eyes. She bent down her head to the dust; with a moan She made supplication to God's pure throne:-- "O God, who lovest the humble, Thou To whom idols, their makers, their servants bow; 'Tis to the light which Thy splendour lends To the idol's face that its worshipper bends. Thy love the heart of the sculptor stirs, And the idol is graven for worshippers. They bow them down to the image, and think That they worship Thee as before it they sink. To myself, O Lord, I have done this wrong, If mine eyes to an idol have turned so long. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Thou hast washed the dark stain of my sin away; Now restore the lost blessing for which I pray. May I feel my heart free from the brand of its woes, And cull from the garden of Yúsuf a rose."