sh. They had 'Poetic contests' among them before the time of
Mahomet. Sale says, at Ocadh, in the South of Arabia, there were
yearly fairs, and there, when the merchandising was done, Poets sang
for prizes:--the wild people gathered to hear that.

One Jewish quality these Arabs manifest; the outcome of many or of all
high qualities; what we may call religiosity. From of old they had
been zealous workers, according to their light. They worshipped the
stars, as Sabeans; worshipped many natural objects,--recognised them
as symbols, immediate manifestations, of the Maker of Nature. It was
wrong; and yet not wholly wrong. All God's works are still in a sense
symbols of God. Do we not, as I urged, still account it a merit to
recognise a certain inexhaustible significance, 'poetic beauty' as we
name it, in all natural objects whatsoever? A man is a poet, and
honoured, for doing that, and speaking or singing it,--a kind of
diluted worship. They had many Prophets, these Arabs; Teachers each to
his tribe, each according to the light he had. But indeed, have we not
from of old the noblest of proofs, still palpable to every one of us,
of what devoutness and noblemindedness had dwelt in these rustic
thoughtful peoples? Biblical critics seem agreed that our own _Book of
Job_ was written in that region of the world. I call that, apart from
all theories about it, one of the grandest things ever written with
pen. One feels, indeed, as if it were not Hebrew; such a noble
universality, different from noble patriotism or sectarianism, reigns
in it. A noble Book; all men's Book! It is our first, oldest statement
of the never-ending Problem,--man's destiny, and God's ways with him
here in this earth. And all in such free flowing outlines; grand in
its sincerity, in its simplicity; in its epic melody, and repose of
reconcilement. There is the seeing eye, the mildly understanding
heart. So _true_ everywhere; true eyesight and vision for all things;
material things no less than spiritual; the Horse,--'hast thou clothed
his neck with _thunder_?'--he '_laughs_ at the shaking of the spear!'
Such living likenesses were never since drawn. Sublime sorrow, sublime
reconciliation: oldest choral melody as of the heart of mankind;--so
soft, and great; as the summer midnight, as the world with its seas
and stars! There is nothing written, I think, in the Bible or out of
it, of equal literary merit.--

To the idolatrous Arabs one of the most ancient unive