The Camels

The Camels live in desert lands;

Their feet are made to walk on sands;

They carry burdens far and near,

Where neither grass nor trees appear;



Where there's no rain, no rivers, brooks,

No water anywhere for folks;--

But God has made in Camels' chest

Peculiar sacs, for He knew best



What they must do, and that they'd die,

If He did not th ir drink supply.

Before they start they drink and drink,

Till every sac is full, I think;--



And at the mouth of every sac,

A muscle strong, but loose and slack,

Will tighten up when it is filled,

So that no drink can e'er be spilled.



And when on journey, last or first,

The camel wants to slake his thirst,

A bag-string loosens, and out-pours

Enough to satisfy for hours.















The laden camels, in a row,

Are called a Caravan, you know;--

Sometimes a caravan is lost,

Being buried deep in sand and dust.



A storm of wind, a Simoon named,

Will sweep across the desert sand,

When camels, men, and every one

Must throw themselves their knees upon,



And bury faces in the earth,

For thus alone they save their breath;

A fearful thing, but 'tis the best

That they can do,--now hear the rest.







Sometimes they're buried deep, and find

When they dig out they're almost blind

And cannot tell which way to go,

And thus are lost, a serious woe!



Sometimes, when lost, the drink for men

Gets short; is gone; they thirst, and then

They kill a camel just for lack

Of what he carries in his sac.







In deserts bare and bleak and drear,

The sun shines hot through all the year,

But many an Oasis is found,

Or spot where grass and trees abound.



And here is drink, and here they rest,

And take their fill of what is best;

Then travel on in thankful mood,

With song and shout! "Allah is good!"