of his guests
    That wait for him.”  The Rabbi paused awhile,
    And then made answer:  “Think you I beguile
    You with an idle tale?  Not so, forsooth! 
    I have a guest whom I must tend in truth. 
    Is not the soul of man indeed a guest,
    Who in this body deigns a while to rest,
    And dwells with me all peacefully to-day: 
    To-morrow—­may it not have fled away?”

Space must be found for one other parable, taken (like many other poetical quotations in this volume) from Mrs. Lucas’ translations: 

    Simeon ben Migdal, at the close of day,
    Upon the shores of ocean chanced to stray,
    And there a man of form and mien uncouth,
    Dwarfed and misshapen, met he on the way.

    “Hail, Rabbi,” spoke the stranger passing by,
    But Simeon thus, discourteous, made reply: 
    “Say, are there in thy city many more,
    Like unto thee, an insult to the eye?”

    “Nay, that I cannot tell,” the wand’rer said,
    “But if thou wouldst ply the scorner’s trade,
    Go first and ask the Master Potter why
    He has a vessel so misshapen made?”

    Then (so the legend tells) the Rabbi knew
    That he had sinned, and prone himself he threw
    Before the other’s feet, and prayed of him
    Pardon for the words that now his soul did rue.

    But still the other answered as before: 
    “Go, in the Potter’s ear thy plaint outpour,
    For what am I!  His hand has fashioned me,
    And I in humble faith that hand adore.”

    Brethren, do we not often too forget
    Whose hand it is that many a time has set
    A radiant soul in an unlovely form,
    A fair white bird caged in a mouldering net?

    Nay more, do not life’s times and chances, sent
    By the great Artificer with intent
    That they should prove a blessing, oft appear
    To us a burden that we sore lament?

    Ah! soul, poor soul of man! what heavenly fire
    Would thrill thy depths and love of God inspire,
    Could’st thou but see the Master hand revealed,
    Majestic move “earth’s scheme of things entire.”

    It cannot be!  Unseen he guideth us,
    But yet our feeble hands, the luminous
    Pure lamp of faith can light to glorify
    The narrow path that he has traced for us.

Finally, there are the Beast Fables of the Talmud and the Midrash.  Most of these were borrowed directly or indirectly from India.  We are told in the Talmud that Rabbi Meir knew three hundred Fox Fables, and that with his death (about 290 C.E.) “fabulists ceased to be,” Very few of Meir’s fables are extant, so that it is impossible to gather whether or not they were original.  There are only thirty fables in the Talmud and the Midrash, and of these several cannot be parallelled in other literatures.  Some of the Talmudic fables are found also in the