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Hail, Saladin!
March 20th, 1906
Published in the Agnostic Journal London, England 17 March 1906 (page 165)
Insensate herd! 'tis their's to triumph now, But time shall come, when, on my honoured brow, Posterity shall place a tardy crown, And truth shall hurl the base detractors down. —Byron
I. Hail, noble knight! hail, valiant Saladin! Long may thy sword (lash bright in Freedom's war, Long may thy name resound midst crash and roar, In that great fight that battles against sin; Lead, and we follow, forward till we win; Onward, yet onward, striking at the core Of evil statecraft and priest-ridden law; Hark, cries of victory rise amidst the din.
Thy cause, the serried ranks fall back; Sheath thy red sword, a glorious day is won, The rout it o'er, the Age of Lies hath run Into the past, and midst Death's hideous track, Thy form stands god-like as those ages black Ignoble die before Truth's rising sun; Unclasp thine helm, thy worldly work is done, O mighty chief o'er Superstition's wrack.
Well hast thou fought, the enemy have fled; The cold world hears and trying to retrieve, O'er thy brave brow a laurel crown doth weave, Where ebbs away life's flowing stream so red; Hark, dying warrior, ere thou meet'st the dead, Truth reigns where once the Church did all deceive The cross lies low and the sad World doth grieve; Thy name and her's are for all ages wed.
II. Great counterpart of that Salah-ud-Deen, Who freed, in mercy, the adulteress, Thy spirit moves in deepest tenderness, And o'er thy helmed brow is cast the sheen Of those lost days of love that might have been, Had'st thou but travelled through life's wilderness Had'st thou but lived in those sad times of stress, In those dark days that knew not Truth's bright gleam.
Clasp hands with him whose flashing scimitar Crashed down the wearers of the crimson cross, No wall restrained, no moat or yawning fosse Repelled the rush of crescent and of star: The cross of Christ dies in far Syria, The Christian hosts lie numbered midst the loss; The desert dust is blown o'er scrog and moss, Re-born in thee, brave son of Scotia.
Thy heart, attuned to his, heats through the age, And in its berserk mood is near akin, Or, like the just, chivalrous Noureddin, Can dry the tear, or bitter pain assuage. Love, Truth and Beauty are thy battle gage, O gentle knight, O tender Saladin, In thee the souls of Sweet Jellaledin And thoughtful Omar kiss their troth's sweet pledge.
III. Bright son of ages now long past and gone, And ever-echoing memory of those days Lost midst the pitfalls of that priestly maze Built in the dark before true light was born, To burst resplendent o'er Love's breaking down; Hail Saladin, to thee we sing our praise, And through the mist of ages on the gaze; O valiant herald of Truth's glorious morn.
Thine was the night hat caught Truth's perfect fire From the dark clouds of deep inanity, And from the slough of priestly vanity Raised the true Christ from out the Christian mire, Thine was the hand that struck Life's mystic lyre, Whose notes redolent with divinity, Speed onward through the vast eternity, Increasing as our souls to them aspire.
Thine was the soul that laboured for the true, Thine was the mind that grappled for the just, Thine was the will that conquered priestly lust, Leaving Life's roses for her bitter rue: Hail Saladin, for many pass, but few Sort Truth's fair jewels from the ages' dust, And leave this world the better for their trust, Then onward go, all hail great knight to you!
Lucknow, India
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