im call!
Allah praise in every lot,
He keeps you and you know it not.

And this one too, about the little worms, is curious enough:

Praise to Him who feeds the worms,
In the silent vale!
Provides their portion every day,
Protects them in the dangerous way.
No doubt they praise Him too, and pray,
In the silent vale!

When our good friend Yusef, whom we saw in Safita, asked the Nusairiyeh
women to repeat to him their nursery rhymes, they denied that they had
any. They were afraid to recite them, lest he write them down and use
them as a magic spell or charm against them. When a child is born among
them, no one is allowed to take a coal or spark of fire from the house
for a week, lest the child be injured. They always hang a little coin
around the child's neck to keep off eruptions and diseases from its
body.

You must be weary by this time, after Handumeh's wedding and the story
telling and the Bedawin songs. Let us retire to rest for the night,
thankful for the precious Bible, and the knowledge of Jesus Christ. You
are safe indeed in the hands of God, and need not fear the Ghoul nor the
Bah'oo. Good night.

Such is life. Yesterday a wedding, and to-day a funeral. Do you hear
that terrific wail, those shrieks and bitter cries of anguish? Young
Sheikh Milham has died. The Druze and Christian women are gathered in
the house, and wailing together in the most piteous manner. It is
dreadful to think what sufferings the poor women must endure. They do
everything possible to excite one another. They not only call out,
"Milham, my pride, my bridegroom, star of my life, you have set, my
flower, you have faded," but they remind each other of all the deaths
that have occurred in their various families for years, and thus open
old wounds of sorrow which time had healed. Yet they have regular
funeral songs, and we will listen while they sing in a mournful strain:

Milham Beg my warrior,
Your spear is burnished gold;
Your costly robes and trappings,
Will in the street be sold.
"Where is the Beg who bore me?"
I hear the armor crying--
Where is the lord who wore me?
I hear the garments sighing.

Now Im Hassein from Ainab bursts out in a loud song, addressing the
dead body, around which they are all seated on the ground:

Rise up my lord, gird on your sword,
Of heavy Baalbec steel;
Why leave it hanging on the nail?
Let foes its temper feel!