Young Ofeg's Ditties/Ditty 29

​I had crossed the great morass, and was wandering on the opposite shore in the midst of manifold flowers, and in a sunshine the like of which I had never felt before. But beyond the morass my foes were gathered in a fog, as orange-green as gall, and they threatened and called:—

"You need not crow! Don't you think we did not see that you got help? If strange hands had not stretched forth to you, you would be lying in the bottom of the morass by this time, there where we would like to see you, and where you ought to be."

Then I answered:—

"The evil smell of your words reaches me even here, from your heart and your mind's corruption. Ye only know one way to thank,—lackey's way,—bend to the dust, kiss hands meekly, and let your words trickle like syrup. What do you know of the silent thanks that ​holds the kernel and marrow of a human soul in one look, or that this look has something of the look of youth when it loves, and something of a child's look up to its mother, but before all, that it is of a piece with the look with which two who were lost in a desert fall into one another's arms when they meet unexpectedly; solitary and remote from other human beings.

"Therefore, go home to your porridge platters, gorge yourselves, and thank your God in the one way you know how to thank,—lackey's way,—bend to the dust, kiss hands meekly, and let your words trickle like syrup."