upon Mecca as the future holy city of the Moslems. As usual, the
Koran was called in to authorize him in thus fixing the Kebla, or point
of prayer.

"Unto God belongeth the East and the West. He directeth whom he pleaseth
in the right way. Turn, therefore, thy face towards the holy temple of
Mecca; and wherever ye be, turn your faces towards that place."

At this time also he sanctioned the retaining of the holy fast of
Ramadhan and the pilgrimages connected therewith. As he was well aware
that the doing away with the great bazar upon which the prosperity of
Mecca so largely depended would loose a host of enemies upon him, he
declared:

"O true believers, a fast is ordained you, as it was ordained unto them
before you, that ye may fear God. The month of Ramadhan shall ye fast,
in which the Koran was sent down from heaven, a direction unto men."

Henceforth, during the fast, all true believers were to abstain from
eating or drinking, and from all earthly pleasures, while the sun shone
above the horizon and until the lamps at the mosques were lighted by the
Imaums. It is needless to say that the Moslems obviated this
self-sacrifice by sleeping during the day as much as possible, giving
the night up to all the proscribed indulgences of the interdicted
season.

And now Mohammed's hatred to the Jews began to show itself, and the
awful persecution of the little Jewish band in Medina commenced.

Poor Dumah was one of the first to bring the rod of wrath upon himself.
When wandering down the street one day, not very long after the Battle
of Bedr, he paused by a well, just as Mohammed, accompanied by his
faithful Zeid, appeared in the way. Dumah saw them and at once began to
sing his thoughts in a wild, irregular lament. His voice was peculiarly
sweet and clear, and every word reached the ear of the enraged prophet.
The song was a weird lament over those slain at Bedr:

"They are fallen, the good are fallen,
Low in the dust they are fallen;
And their hair is steeped in blood;
But the poison-wind shrieks above them,
Sighing anon like the cushat,
And breathing its curses upon him,
Upon him, the chief of impostors.
As he passes the leaflets tremble,
And the flowers shrink from his pathway;
And the angels smile not upon him,
For he maketh the widow and orphan;
And the voice of Rachel riseth
In mourning loud for her children.
And no comfort doth fall upon her.