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This poem is entitled Abou Ben Adhem, and it is here reprinted as a reminder that one of the great things a man may do, in his own imagination, is to forgive those who have dealt unjustly with him: Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw within the moonlight of his room,
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel, - Abou spoke more low,
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again, with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
THE MAN WHO SLANDERS HIS FELLOWMAN UNWITTINGLY UNCOVERS THE REAL NATURE OF HIS INNER SELF. Civilization, itself, owes its existence to such men as Leigh Hunt, in
whose fertile imaginations have been pictured the higher and nobler
standards of human relationship. Abou Ben Adhem is a poem that will never die, thanks to this man who pictured in his imagination the hope of an ideal that is constructive. The major trouble with this world today lies in our lack of understanding of the power of imagination, for if we understood this great power we could use it as a weapon with which to wipe out poverty and misery and injustice and persecution, and this could be done in a single generation.
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