The wife observed: “A very sun of good is risen;

Through whom a gladsome world’s enlarged from want’s sad prison.

Vicegerent of th’ All-Merciful, Caliph of God,

Fair Bagdād’s city prides itself to kiss his rod.

If unto him thou have recourse, a prince thou’lt be.

Why, then, to misery cleave, such as we hourly see?

Companionship with fortune’s minions brings good luck;

Where’s an elixir like their power, my dearest duck? 445

Ahmed’s esteem raised Abū-Bekr such a height;

For once confirming Ahmed’s word, ‘Faithful’ he’s hight!”

The man demurred: “How can I gain access at court?

Without an introduction, how find sure passport?

Connection we must seek; or else invent excuse.

No artizan can work without his tools. The deuce!

Thus Mejnūn, when he’d heard by chance from passing wight,

His Laylā was an invalid (which caused him fright),

Exclaimed: ‘Alas! Without excuse I cannot go!

And if I visit not the sick one, I’m all woe! 450

Would that I were physician, with his healing art;

Then could I see my Laylā; none would dare me thwart!’

And now he cries: ‘I have it! I’ve a right to go!

No bashfulness shall keep me from her portico!’

Had bats but eyes, with which to see and find their way,

They’d fly about, disport themselves, jocund, by day.”

The wife replied: “The Caliph’s public pageant is

For all who introduction lack; their griefs are his.

To be, and have a grief, is introduction sure.

Thus poverty and lowliness work their own cure.” 455

He still objected: “Shall I fall in love with want,

That I may urge my need as matter for some grant?

E’en then, a witness credible I should require

T’ attest my indigence, when almoners inquire.

Point out for me a witness; not mere words and wiles;

That so the sovereign’s favour may be won, and smiles.

For, otherwise, a mere pretext, without a proof,

In justice’ court would fail, and bring reproof.

A witness credible is, then, _sine quâ non_.

For suitor’s plea to stand, proof it must rest upon.” 460

His wife rejoined: “The witness thou requir’st to bring,

Must, by some shrewd contrivance, from thy prospects spring.

Rain-water’s all we have in store within our hut,

Estate, possessions, wealth, lie in our water-butt.

A little pot of water shalt thou bear with thee,

As offering to the Caliph. This present from me;

And say: ‘No other wealth on earth do I possess.

To Arabs of the desert, water’s happiness!

The Caliph’s treasury is full of gems and gold;

A pot of water such as this, its coffers do not hold! 465

What is this pot? It is an emblem of our lives!

The water in it, matchless virtue of our wives!

Accept, then, gracious prince, this little pot from me;

And out of all God’s gifts repay its value, free!’

That pot’s five lips are emblems of our senses. Sure!

Keep them all clean; so may thy honour, too, be pure!

The pot will then relation keep with ocean’s wave;

And I, perchance, advantage from that ocean have.

If clean thou carry it before the sovereign’s eyes,

He may be pleased therewith;--buy it from mere surprise. 470

The pot will, then, of water never lacking be;

My little water-pot shall suffice thee and me.

Close tight its lips, and bear it full from our supply.

A holy text ’tis says: ‘From lust close every eye.’[311]

His beard, his moustache, both, will swell with joy at this.

For prince supreme like him, my offering’s not amiss.”

Thou, woman, didst not know that there, in Bagdād’s midst,

A Tigris flowed with water, sweet as honey.--Didst?

A very ocean is it, rapid in its course;

With boats and ships, with fishers’ hooks, both fine and coarse. 475

Go then, good man! The Caliph thee his state shall show!

Thou’lt comprehend the text: “Beneath which rivers flow.”[312]

Thus, likewise, are our intellects, our thoughts, our sense;

A drop compared with God’s boundless omniscience!

The husband now chimed in: “Yes! Plug the pot’s mouth tight.

Thou’st hit the very offering;--useful, good, and right!

Sew it up carefully in case of felt, threefold.

Our Caliph’s breakfast-water[313] shall it be;--so cold!

No other water’s like it in this world of ours;—

It’s heaven’s pure ambrosia, ’still’d from vernal showers! 480

Poor cits know none but waters hard and bitter all;—

Whence various maladies, with blindness, them befall!”

The bird that lives where salt-marsh noisome airs exhales,

Knows naught of joys pure water gives, and spicy gales!

So thou, good man, who dwelledst ’midst the desert’s waste,

Hadst never seen a Tigris, known Euphrates’ taste!

As he, again, not yet from worldly cares set free,

Is ignorant of ecstasy, of rapture’s glee;

Or, having heard thereof as tales from men of old,

Knows them as names alone, in storybooks oft told; 485

Child’s A, B, C; as taught to every lisping elf;

But whose real meaning’s hidden from the teacher’s self.

Our Arab man now takes that water-pot in charge.

By day and night he travels;--load not over large!

Anxiety fast holds him, lest the pot should break;

Most watchfully he guards it from misfortune’s freak.

His wife spends all her days in prayers on his behalf;

Her worship o’er, she adds: “Lord! shield my better half!

Secure our pot of water from all thievish hands!

Send it may prove a pearl in sea of Bagdād’s lands! 490

My husband, true, is shrewd; and know’s what he’s about;

But pearls have enemies, we trow, in every rout!

What is a pearl? A drop from fount of life sent down;[314]

A drop from non-existence,--whence all substance known!”

Those prayers’ reward,--as guerdon of her sighs and tears;—

His care’s requital, watchfulness, and constant fears;—

Their pot reached Bagdād safe from robbers’ grip;

Secure from shock of stone, from chance of fall or slip.

A city, there, he sees, with every blessing filled;

Where craving mortals ply each art, as they are skilled. 495

Each moment, here or there, some extra-lucky wight,

His object gains, receives from court what glads his sight!

To Muslims, Unbelievers, equal grace is doled,

Like rain and sunshine. Not so paradise, we’re told!

One set of men he sees arrayed in honour’s robes;

Another set endure, through hope and fear, sharp probes.

As gentle, or as simple, prince or worm, pismire,

All are alive, as though last trump’s notes them inspire!

The worldly, in apparel sumptuous to behold;

The godly, all immersed in transports clearly told! 500

The hopeless have become as though their hopes were fair;

The hopeful show enjoyment of fruition’s share!

A voice proclaimed: “Come forward, all ye sons of want!”

Beneficence seeks beggars, as for gifts they pant.

Beneficence hunts up for beggars and for need,

As beauty seeks her mirror, with a special greed.

A pretty face is charming in its mirror seen;

Beneficence gleams lovely through want’s chilly sheen.

God hath enjoined in holy writ: “By forenoon’s glare!”[315]

“Muhammed, chide not thou too much at beggar’s prayer!”[316] 505

A beggar is a mirror wherein bounty shines.

Dull not that mirror, then, with breath of anger’s whines!

The beggar ’tis shows forth what charity achieves;

A charitable man for this those wants relieves.

A beggar, then, ’s a mirror of th’ Almighty’s grace;

And whoso’s with the Lord, therein sees his Lord’s face.

He that hath love for other than the Lord of all,

Is dead at heart,--not living;--shadow on a wall!

Whoe’er adopts God’s poverty, without false show,

Secures the prize of God’s rich pleasure here below! 510

Who puts on sham of poverty deserves no bread.

(Bones are not given to effigies of dogs. They’re dead!)

His want craves pelf; ’tis not the love of God he’d seek.

Lay not thy bounty at the feet of one too sleek.

A landshark is a mendicant for mere pelf’s sake.

He’s fish in form; but will not to the water take.

Domestic fowl is he; not eagle of free air.

With Lot he sips of wine; God’s water’s his despair.

He loves his God, if but his God will grant him wealth;

But nothing cares for God’s mere grace;--for spirit’s health. 515

Should he conceive th’ idea of love for God alone,

God’s essence he’d deny, God’s attributes disown.

Man’s fancy is a creature;--born with mortal lot.

God was not born. His scripture says: “Nor was begot.”[317]

The man in love with self, and with his fancy’s freak,

Can never be a lover who to God will seek.

Were fancy’s lover true, and free from crafty guile,

His fancy’s tropes had led him to the truth erewhile.

That _dictum_ would require a commentary, full,

But fear withholds me. Prejudice will have its pull! 520

Old prejudice, quite purblind to the truth, I see,

A hundred phantoms conjures up to frighten me.

Not every man has heard aright the still small voice;

Not every bird’s a fig-pecker, that sweets rejoice;

How then a bird that’s dead,--turned putrid long ago;—

A man of prejudice, all sightless, eyeless, so!

A painted fish cares not for water, or for land.

Soap to a blackamoor is one, or tar, in hand.

Shouldst thou depict a portrait overwhelmed with grief,

Would grief or joy be felt, though shown in strong relief? 525

The picture would look sorrowful;--no sorrow feel;

Or smiling happiness;--without gay laughter’s peal.

The joy or grief depicted by a pencil’s art,

Is naught but simulated;--knows nor thrill, nor smart.

Lugubrious countenances are for our behoof;

That we may be reminded not to court reproof.

And beaming visages are not without their use,

If they recall us from mere form to sense occluse.

The various effigies we see in this bath-house,[318]

Disguised in draperies, are dolls;--blind fools to chouse. 530

So long as thou’rt outside, naught else but clothes thou’lt see.

Undress thyself. Come in; and see the nude, the free.

There’s no admission granted to a bath, while dressed.

But clothes, the body, this, the soul, leave all unguessed.

Our Arab man, from far in desert’s sandy waste,

Has reached at length the walls of Bagdād,--home of taste.

The guards, the officers, on duty at the gate,

Received him with politeness, kindness delicate.

Without a question asked, his case they’d understood.

Their charge was to show kindness first, ere asked for food. 535

So they addressed him thus: “Ho, thou, good Arab prince!

Whence comest thou? How fares it? Straight thy wish evince!”

He answered: “Prince I am, if you to me be kind;

But if you me contemn, I’m naught in my own mind.

Your aspects indicate you’re men of wealth and rank;

Your speech and smiles betoken breeding, noble, frank.

Mere sight of your kind features salve is to the eyes;

Your looks alone enrich;--gold in your voices lies.

Each one of you expression is of God’s own grace;

In Caliph’s bosom nurtured, favoured with high place; 540

That you, in turn, dispense th’ elixir of support,

And brighten longing eyes by words of kind import.

I am a stranger, poor, come from the desert’s sands,

In hopes some favour to obtain from sovereign hands.

The rumour of his goodness fills the wilderness;

Each atom in its wastes blooms thence in joyfulness.

In search of wealth have I approached his capital;

Now I’m arrived, I burn with pleasures optical.

E’en as the lass in search of bread at baker’s shop,

Struck with his ‘prentice’ beauty, swooned;--a lifeless drop! 545

Or like the saunterer for air in royal park,

Who lost his heart to one he met, gay as a lark!

Or like the desert merchant drawing from a well

What he thought water, was entranced by Joseph’s spell!

Again, as Moses hasted for a coal of fire,

And found the burning bush, that led him to empire!

Or Jesus, who escaped his foes with one fleet bound,

And found himself then landed where the sun goes round![319]

An ear of corn it was that baited Adam’s trap.[320]

But thence himself became the source of mankind’s sap! 550

The falcon stoops to earth enticed by luring fate;

He there meets man’s good teaching, soars to princely state.

A child is sent to school to teach him learning’s prize,

In hope of toys and treats he studies till he’s wise.

On leaving school he sits in seat of law or power;

He paid his schoolpence then;--he’s now lord of the hour!

So Abbās[321] sallied forth to war, with fierce intent,

To put Muhammed down,--Islām to circumvent.

Defender of the Faith, till death, he then became;

The Caliphate was destined, in his line, to fame! 555

So am I come, in hopes at this court to advance;

Though at its gate as yet, I feel I’ve every chance.

In quest of bread am I; as offering, water bring.

The hope of bread sets wide heaven’s portals at one swing.

’Twas bread that drove out Adam from his paradise;

’Tis bread will gain me entrance where my hopes take rise.

From bread, from water, both, as angels, far I stroll;

And, following the spheres, around this centre roll!

Without an object none will toil on earth, you see,

Save true and godly lovers. They’re from motives free!” 560

Th’ Infinite’s lovers finite’s worshippers are not.

Who seek the finite lose th’ Infinite, as we wot.

When finite with the finite falls in love, perforce,

His loved one soon returns to her infinite source.

A beard that puts itself into another’s grasp,

In lather’s smothered; emblem of a weak mind’s gasp.

He’s not his own lord; cannot guide his own affairs;

He does but what he’s told; where’er he’s bid, repairs.

Would’st sin with woman? Choose, at least, one that is free.

Would’st rob and steal? Let pearls and jewels be thy fee. 565

A slave obeys a master; has himself no will;

The scent is all the rose’s; thorns show no such skill.

A slave may not attain to wish that he may form;

His toil is vain, his trouble profitless;--poor worm!

Shall hunter snare a shadow? Where were then his food?

A shadow’s not a substance;--can do no one good.

A foolish hunter seized the shadow of a bird!

The fowl, on tree securely perched, not one foot stirred;

But, wondering, thought: “What is the stupid fool about?

Demented, sure; his little wit he’s let ooze out!” 570

But if thou thinkest finite’s of th’ Infinite born;

And sayest: “For love of rose, do honour to the thorn;”

Consider: finite unto Infinite’s not joined.

Or what need of the prophets? They’ve not scripture coined.

The prophets have been sent to link the two in one.

If they’re not two, but one, what have the prophets done?

But let that be. Th’ inquiry has no useful end.

The day is waning; let us to our tale attend.

The Arab now his little pot of water showed.

As seed to earth, he it on Caliph’s court bestowed; 575

And said: “Present my offering at the sovereign’s feet,

If beggar save his king from want, it’s surely meet.

The water’s fresh; the little jar green-glazed and new;

Filled from a pool replenished by the rain and dew.”

On hearing this the guards were laughing in their sleeves;

But still, as precious, took the jar;--polite court-reeves!

The Caliph’s kindly nature, active, well-informed,

To kindness had each member of his court reformed.

For as the sovereign is, so will his subjects be.

The azure vault of heaven makes green the earth;--you see. 580

A king’s a reservoir; his servants are his mains,

Through whom his bounty flows, to swell his subjects’ veins.

The stream, if flowing from a tank all sweet and pure,

Each main distributes bounty, courtesy;--be sure.

But should the reservoir prove foul and nauseous, then,

The mains can flow with naught but venom, like a fen.

The mains can only what they get convey around.

Remember this. We’re treading now on solid ground.

A sovereign’s goodness is an unembodied soul,

That permeates the clay of human frame, its goal. 585

It is the mind, the all-informing, well-derived,

That brings the body into discipline, where hived.

Love is a wanton, restless, reckless of control,

That drives the man to madness; passion does extol;

But goodness is a stream as sweet as Fount of Life;

Its pebbles are all pearls, all jewels, beauteous, rife.

Whichever be the science makes a teacher famed,

His scholars’ minds with that will surely be inflamed.

A jurist’s pupils study principles of law,

If but their mental principles be free from flaw. 590

A lawyer’s prentice over subtle cases pores;

The principles, with him, are most unwelcome bores.

A syntax-teacher rears a host of grammar’s sons,

With whom his syntax passes for the sun of suns.

A teacher who inculcates abnegation’s creed,

Surrounds himself with pupils free from lust and greed.

But at the hour of death, of science’s long roll,

The art of poverty’s what most behoves man’s soul.

A syntax-teacher, once, was mounted in a boat,

Who to the skipper turned, as soon as e’er afloat, 595

And asked: “Hast studied syntax?” “No indeed,” quoth he.

The teacher then: “Thy life’s half-wasted! Dost thou see?”

The skipper felt heart-broken at this pert remark;

But, for the moment, held his peace;--wise man’s bulwark.

The wind arose; the bark was sorely tempest-tossed;

The skipper then addressed the teacher, sickness-crossed:

“Knowest thou the swimmer’s art, good friend? With speed reply.”

“Nay,” said the teacher, “that’s an art the schools decry.”

The skipper now remarked: “Thy whole life’s gone to waste.

The ship must go to pieces. Water salt thou’lt taste. 600

With syncope, not syntax, now we’ll have to deal.

With syncope, from water comes nor hurt, nor weal,

The sea bears on its surface bodies of the dead;

But living men it drowns; them sinks, as though of lead.

So soon as thou’lt be dead to every human art

To thee eternity its secrets will impart.

Thou hitherto hast deemed us mortals asses all;

Now thou thyself, as ass on ice, must have a fall.

Although thou be the very Plato of the age,

Thou’st still to learn that time, the world, is but a page.” 605

This tale about the syntax-teacher we’ve tacked on,

To show the grammar dissolution turns upon.

All syntax, grammar, jurisprudence, law, and art,

Thou’lt find, my friend, of knowledge is but a small part.

Our little learning is the Arab’s water-pot.

In Caliph, of God’s wisdom we’ve an emblem got.

We bring our pot of water to great Tigris’ stream.

If we ourselves not asses call, us asses deem.

The Arab of our tale excusable was,--troth;

He knew not of a Tigris. Where’s the Arab doth? 610

Had he, as we, known Tigris’ stream, and all its store,

His water-pot had never travelled to its shore;

Had he become aware of what a Tigris meant,

Arrived at Bagdād, he’d his pot to fragments sent.

The Caliph, when he saw that pot, and heard that tale,

The vase had filled with golden sequins, like a bale,

Our Arab thus to free from poverty’s rude grasp;—

A robe of honour, too; and presents for his clasp,

He ordered. Then the whole unto the guards were sent,

With kindliest injunctions, fruit of good intent: 615

“That all unto that Arab man be safely given,

Whose journey home by Tigris’ arrowy stream be driven.

By land he came; he’d travelled all the way on foot;

But Tigris’ stream may bear him back a shorter route.”

Our Arab in a boat was placed at river’s side;

The stream he saw, admired, bowed low, lost all his pride;

Exclaiming: “Wondrous goodness of the sovereign will!

Th’ acceptance of my water-pot more wondrous still!

How could that sea of wealth my drop deign to accept,

And largely thus to recompense the trifle kept?” 620

Know now, my friend, this world’s one mighty water-pot,

With wisdom and with beauty teeming; as all wot.

One drop, however, ’tis, from ocean of His grace,

Whose fulness cannot be confined in any place.

That treasure latent was. Through fulness it burst forth,

More glorious than the heavens became thenceforth the earth.

The latent treasure, pouring out its riches great,

The earth made kinglike, clothed with more than regal state.

One little branch canal from th’ ocean of God’s grace,

Thus overwhelms this mighty water-pot of space. 625

They who see God are ever rapt in ecstasy;

And raptured, hold that water-pot mere fallacy.

O thou! envy of whom is to that pot a stone!

Though fractured by the shock, the pot yields sounder tone.

The pot is cracked; but, still, its water is not spilt;

The crack’s the very source through which it’s sounder built.

The jar’s each single particle’s in dance and revery,

Though unto man’s poor wisdom this seems foolery.

The pot, the world, all it contains, are lost to view.

Consider well this fact! God knows it’s simply true. 630

If thou canst grasp this meaning, thou’rt like falcon strong.

Beat, then, the pinions of thy thoughts. Be hawk, ere long.

Thought’s pinions are bemired in thee, and heavy move;

Because thou feedest on clay; clay’s bread to thee, I’ll prove.

As flesh, bread is but clay. Trust not thereon for strength;

Or thou’lt remain, claylike, within the earth at length.

Dost hunger? What art thou, then, but a dog?

Fierce, ill-affected, raging; lusts thy vitals clog!

And when with food thou’rt filled, polluted straight becomest.

Thou losest strength and sense; mere stock, thou sleep

welcomest. 635

So, being doglike or a stock, senseless, impure,

How canst thou progress make in path of virtue, sure?

Whatever ’tis thou huntest, dog thou art, in sooth.

Feed not, then, thus, the dog of lust’s voracious tooth.

When dogs are satisfied, obedience they forswear;

To follow up the game they one and all forbear.

His want it was disposed the Arab of our tale,

To travel till he’d reached the Caliph’s courtly vale.

We’ve shown the bounty of that sovereign merciful,

Shed on the Arab’s wretchedness, most plentiful. 640

Whate’er a lover says, the sentiment of love

Shines through his words, if but thoughts towards his mistress rove.

Discourses he on law, love furnishes the theme;

Throughout his labouring periods, love’s the enthymeme.

Should blasphemy rise to his lips, of faith it smacks.

Doubt, when by him expressed, shows confidence’s knacks.

The spume that rises from the sea of his pure heart

Partakes the nature of its source, truth’s counterpart.

We must esteem such spume as foam of mountain-rill;—

Upbraiding from a lip beloved is worshipped still. 645

Attention we pay not to harsh words issuing thence;—

The features we adore divest them of offence.

However strange such utterances, they all seem true;

The stranger they appear, to sense they lend more cue.

If sugar we should cast in mould to look like bread,

Then eat it, we the sugar taste. Form’s of no stead.

Should true believer golden idol light upon,

Will he for worship set it up, anon, anon?

Nay! To the fire he’ll quickly it in wrath consign,

And strip it of the form that makes it sin’s foul sign. 650

The gold, abstracted from the idol’s form, is pure.

That form it is corrupts,--can men to sin allure.

The gold’s an essence fixed, produced by nature’s God;

The idol stamp is transitory;--soon downtrod.

Thou for one flea to flames thy bed wouldst never give;

For one musquito’s hum, not wish to cease to live.

If form-entrapped thou be, idolater thou art!

Eschew mere form; attend to essence, as thy part.

Art bound on pilgrimage? Seek other pilgrims out;—

Be they from Hind, from Tatary, or Hadramout. 655

Peer not into their features; look not at their skins.

Inquire their thoughts, their hearts;--if these be free of sins.

A negro findest thou one with thee in faith and creed?

Him deem a white;--thy brother is he in thy need.

Our tale is told. Its ups and downs are manifold.

Like lovers’ thoughts, it’s wandering, unconnected, bold.

Commencement it has none;--eternity’s its sign;—

Still less conclusion;--so, eternity’s design.

Or, rather, it’s like water;--every drop, so rich,

Commencement is, and end;--yet shows not which is which. 660

But, God forbid! Our story’s not a fable. See!

Its narrative’s a point concerns both me and thee!

A gnostic, in possession of his wits and sense,

Repeats not what is past;--he bides the present tense.

The Arab, his poor pitcher, Caliph, all, observe,

Ourselves are. “He shall swerve whom God shall cause to swerve!”[322]

Our Arab, know, ’s the mind; his wife, our lusts and greed.

These two are tenebrous; the mind’s the torch they need.

Now hear whence has arisen the ground of their dispute:

Th’ infinite finites holds, of various attribute;— 665

Parts finite;--not parts infinite of th’ infinite,

Like scent of rose,--part infinite of definite.

The verdure’s beauty infinite is, as a part;

The cooing of the dove’s as infinite, in logic art.

But go we not too far afield for sorts and kinds;

Or poor disciples ne’er will slake their thirsting minds.

Dost doubt? Art racked with difficulties? To excess?

Have patience. “Patience is the key of all success!”[323]

Be abstinent. Let not thy crowding thoughts run wild.

Thoughts lions are, and antelopes. Mind’s forest; child! 670

The prime of remedies is abstinence, we know.

And scratching irritates the itch;--as leeches show.

Of treatment medical the base is abstinence.

Therefore be abstinent. Show strength of mind and sense.

Accept my counsel. Lend an ear as I advise;

In golden earrings, counsel’s pearls shall be thy prize.

Be thou as slave to this, my cunning goldsmith-art;

I’ll teach thee how to soar beyond the stars’ bright chart.

Know, first of all, creation’s minds are manifold,

As are its forms;--from Alpha to Omega told. 675

From this variety, disorder seems to rise;

Though, in true sense, to unity the series hies.

In one sense, they’re discordant; other, in accord;

They now as folly, now as wisdom, pass a word.

The day of judgment will to each assign its place;

All men of wisdom yearn to see that day of grace.

He who, as blackamoor, is steeped in sin’s dark dye,

In that dread day shall gulp dishonour’s foulest lye.

The wretch whose countenance beams not bright as the sun,

Shall strive in vain behind the densest veil to run. 680

If, like some thorns, his stem display no single rose,

That springtide will prove fatal to his safe repose.

But he that blooms from head to foot with righteous deeds,

With joy shall welcome spring’s awakening of those meads.

The useless thorn desires the nipping wintry blast,

To lay all low and simplify the flowery vast;

That so, all beauty cloaked, all squalor hid, the same,

All glorious hues, all hideous sights, be rendered tame.

The leaf’s fall to such thorn more grateful is than spring;

The ruby and the flint are one in tithesman’s ring. 685

True, that the gardener’s eye in winter knows the thorn;

But what is one eye’s scrutiny to general scorn!

The vulgar public is, as ’twere, one witless wight;

Each star’s a clipping of the moon, in its fond sight.

Not so great men of wisdom, radiant with troth,

They shout with joy: “Good tidings! Spring breaks into growth!”

Unless the flowers blossom on the fertile trees,

How can the fruit be gathered, honey store the bees?

The flowers blow and fade; the fruit begins to swell.

So, when our bodies die, our souls in glory dwell. 690

The fruit’s reality; the flower is but a sign;

The flower’s the harbinger; the fruit, the true design.

The flower blown and past, the fruit then comes in sight;

The first must perish ere the other can see light.

Unless a loaf be broke, no nutriment it yields;

Until the grapes are crushed, no cup of wine man wields.

So drugs, to prove a solace to the sufferer’s ache,

Together must be blended, rolled in one smooth cake. 694

X.

Patience and Perseverance under a Teacher.

Husāmu-’d-Dīn, Light of the Truth, take up, my friend,

A sheet, that thou a Teacher’s virtues mayst append.

True, thou’rt not strong; thy frame is delicate, at best;

But thou’rt the sun that lights my thoughts to their safe nest.

Thou art both lamp and lantern, all in one. Dost see?

Guide to my heart’s behests, clue to my wish,--thou’rt he.

Their thread is in thy hand; thy guidance can it shift;

The pearls upon it strung are gems, thy soul’s free gift.

Write down the qualities by which a Teacher’s known.

Select thy Teacher first; then, follow all he’s shown. 5

A Teacher’s summer’s glow; cold winter, crowd terrene;

The rabble’s darkness self; the Teacher, moon serene.

Young Fortune have I named my Teacher, for the nonce;—

Young Fortune, truth’s real Teacher; vigorous at once.

An ancient Teacher he; commencement he ne’er had;

A solitary pearl;--all peerless, never sad.

Increase of age gives wine fresh strength, as well is known;

Especially truth’s wine, that flows from God’s high throne.

Select a Teacher, then. Without such, travel’s vain;

The way is dangerous,--beset with evil’s train. 10

By well-known road, though travelled many times before,

Without a guide to venture, opens peril’s door.

How then an unknown path thou ne’er hast followed yet?

Go not alone, without a guide;--act not in fret.

Unless thy Teacher be at hand to lead thee right,

The clamours of the demons surely thee’ll affright.

Those demons will mislead thee, into danger cast;

More clever ones than thou have lost their wits at last.

Learn from the Prophet’s words the error of their ways;

How Satan led them far astray in bygone days. 15

From off the track to all that’s good he them misled;

Them carried off; them rendered blind, by vain thoughts fed.

Behold their bones, their skeletons, along the road!

Take warning thence. Drive not thy beast with maddening goad!

Dismount; and to the rightful path safe lead him back,

Where guides abound,--experienced travellers dot the track.

Leave not thy beast; his rein loose not thou from thy hand.

His inclination is to wander o’er the land.

One moment only leave him carelessly to roam;

Towards the pastures he at once will rush, all foam. 20

Thy beast is not a friend to travelling by the road.

How many muleteers through this have lost a load!

Know’st not the way? Observe which path thy beast would take,

And follow the reverse. Secure this will thee make.

“Consult thou them;”[324] but then, do not what they advise;

For he who them opposes not, to ruin hies.

Lend not thyself to lust and fancy’s every wind;

For these are what lead men astray; to God’s truth blind.

There’s nothing in the world that better curbs the lusts,

Than holy company. Protected, he who trusts. 25

The Prophet said to ‘Ali: “Cousin, list to me.

The ‘Lion of the Truth’[325] art thou; a hero. See!

Trust not too much, however, to thy courage, sole;

Confide, much rather, on God’s arm to keep thee whole.

Put faith in aid from His divine, omniscient mind,

That never can be baffled by disputant blind.

His shadow on the earth is what keeps it in place;

His spirit, sunbird-like, soars in supernal space.

Were I to speak His praises until judgment day,

No end, no interruption, would admit my say. 30

Himself He’s veiled in man, as sun behind a cloud.

This seek to comprehend. God knows what mysteries shroud.

The sun He is;--the sun of spirit, not of sky;

By light from Him man lives;--and angels eke, forby.

Then, ‘Ali, of all service man can offer here,

Do thou choose trust in God, dependence firm, sincere.

Each man betakes himself some special worship to;

And each some special friend selects, without ado.

Do thou take refuge in God’s wisdom, full, divine;

He’ll foil the secret foe that would thee undermine. 35

Of all the modes of worship, this choose thou, the best;

Thou’lt distance all competitors, the prize thou’lt wrest.

Thy Teacher having chosen thus, obedience yield,

Implicit; even as Moses journeying o’er that field.[326]

Whate’er events betide, beware, and question not;

For fear thy guide should turn, and drive thee from the spot.[327]

Should He destroy a ship,[328]--no murmur from thy mouth;

Should He an infant choke,[329]--let slip no word uncouth.

God hath declared his hand is like the hand of God,

By saying: ‘God’s right hand above all hands doth plod.’[330] 40

God’s hand it is that kills him; makes him living, too.

But what is living? The everlasting spirit. Lo!

Whoever journeys, now and then, this road alone,

The prayers of saints it is leads him to safety’s zone.

A saint’s protection is not less than angel’s aid;

His help is God’s right hand, when all is truly said.

Now, if an absent saint have such portentous power,

A present Teacher’s honour sure must higher tower.

If for the absent tempting viands are prepared,

For present guests what may not largely be outshared? 45

The varlet who to serve his lord is present there,

Must rank before the absentee, for goodly fare.

Thus, having Teacher chosen, be not too thin-skinned,

Nor wishy-washy, to a muddy puddle kinned.

For every buffet, see thou do not umbrage take:

How can a mirror polished be, unless it bear a shake?”

Hear now this pregnant tale narrators have preserved;

A practice it relates in Qazwīn much observed:

Upon the breast, the arms, the bladebones, and the like,

With needle’s point and indigo, tattooed designs they strike. 50

A certain Qazwīn bully to an artist hied,

To have a brave design imprinted on his hide.

The artist first inquired what pattern he’d select.

The man a lion rampant thought he must elect;

And said: “My luck resides in Leo,--lion-sign;

Depict thou then a lion, deep-blue stained, benign.”

The artist then demanded where he’d wish it done;

Our man replied: “Between my bladebones it enthrone.”

The artist then began to ply his needles’ train;

The Qazwīn bully bellowed, smarting with the pain. 55

The artist he addressed: “Most clever man of skill,

Thou’lt drive me mad. What picture works me so much ill?”

Said he: “A lion’s form is what thou didst enjoin.”

“O yes!” replied the bully. “What part dost thou coin?”

The artist: “At the tail have I commenced this time.”

Our man: “O never mind the tail, designer prime!

Your lion’s tail has whacked me on my rump so hard,

That I’ve no power to breathe, nor such pain disregard.

Allow thy lion to remain without a tail;

Thy needles have unnerved me with their sharp assail.” 60

The artist then began upon another part,

And worked his instruments. They soon induced new smart.

The patient screamed again: “What member limnest thou now?”

Our artist answered: “’Tis the lion’s ear, I trow.”

His man replied: “O leave him without ears this time;

An earless lion’s not so bad. Cut short the rhyme.”

Anew the artist on a part assayed his hand.

Afresh the bully interfered, by pain unmanned.

“What part art now at work on? Say, my worthy friend!”

“O,” said the artist, “now his body I append.” 65

“Leave out his body!” gasped the suffering Qazwīn man;

“The pain’s unbearable. Make short work, as thou can.”

The artist now quite lost his wits, as well he might;

He scratched his head; sought how to mend his plight;

Dashed all his needles, indigo, design, to earth;

In anger saying: “What the plague’s come now to birth?

A lion tailless, headless, bodiless, who’s seen?

God such a lion ne’er created, sure, I ween!”

Have patience, thou too, brother, with thy needle’s smart.

So shalt thou ’scape the sting of conscience in thy heart. 70

They who have conquered,--freed themselves from body’s thrall,

Are worshipped in the spheres, the sun, the moon, stars, all.

Whoever’s killed pride’s demon in his earthly frame,

The sun and clouds are slaves, to do his bidding, tame.

His heart can lessons give of flaming to the lamp;

The very sun not equals him in ardent vamp.

For God hath said, in speaking of the scorching sun,

These words: “It swerved from them.”[331] It had new course to run.

The sharpest thorns are welcome, as the roseleaf soft,

To finite who to th’ Infinite can soar aloft. 75

What signifies to glorify the Lord of heaven;

To humble self to dust; with meekness, pride to leaven?

What use to learn to formulate God’s unity;

What use to bow one’s self before the Deity?

Wouldst shine as brilliantly in sight of all?

Annihilate thy darksome self,--thy being’s pall.

Let thy existence in God’s essence be enrolled,

As copper in alchemist’s bath is turned to gold.

Quit “I” and “We,” which o’er thy heart exert control.

’Tis egotism, estranged from God, that clogs thy soul. 80

XI.

The Lion’s Hunt, in Company.

A lion, wolf, and fox together went to hunt;

Among the hills, in quest of game, they turned their brunt.

By mutual help and aid, they hoped to make the field

Too hot for other animals not under union’s shield.

Co-operating with each other, they surmised,

A heavy bag they each would make of what each prized.

’Tis true, the noble lion felt of this ashamed.

Still, he politely showed towards them his spirit tamed.

A king feels inconvenienced by throngs of troops;

But out of kindness makes them share his warlike swoops. 5

The sun would feel ashamed, did stars with him appear;

’Tis generous in the sun to grace the starry sphere.

’Twas God’s command to Ahmed still: “With them consult.”[332]

True, they gave no advice; no counsel did result.

Upon the balance barley’s weighed, as well as gold;

But barley, thence, has not acquired gold’s value told.

The spirit with the flesh is fellow-traveller now;

A dog has sometimes charge of palace-yard below.

The company, then, set out for the woods amain,

As followers of the lion’s majesty, and train. 10

A mountain-ox, an ibex, next a hare, they took;

Since fortune smiled on them in each succeeding nook.

A lion’s followers on the plain of strife and war,

Of food, by day or night, shall know no want, no bar.

Their prey they carried from the hills into the plain;

Or dead, or sorely wounded;--bleeding, or clean slain.

The wolf and fox were moved to pitch of keen desire,

To see the prey shared out with justice by their sire. 15

The shade of their cupidity caught Leo’s eye,

He understood their confidence, their longing’s dye.

Whoe’er has insight to the hearts and minds of men,

Knows at a glance what’s passing under his sharp ken.

Beware, O heart, thou ever-fond one, in his sight,

Thy secret to betray,--thy wish to bring to light!

He knows it all, though ignorance he may pretend;—

His smile is but a veil thy aim to comprehend.

The lion, having measured all their secret thought,

Made no remark; he knew how they could both be bought; 20

Within his breast revolved their fitting punishment:

“I’ll show you, my fine fellows, what’s by _lion_ meant.

My pleasure’s, for you both, what you should seek to know;

Not calculate beforehand what I may bestow.

Your every thought should but reflect my sovereign will,

And thankfully await what I may give you still.

Have pictures aught to say to guide the artist’s hand?

His cunning ’tis decides what portrait shall expand.

So all your paltry surmise of my royal mind

An insult is,--an arrogance,--that must be fined. 25

‘They who conceive an evil thing of God’[333] are cursed;

And if I spare you, justice will be clean reversed.

To rid the world of scandal, I must end your lives;

Your story shall a moral point; whoe’er contrives.”

With this he smiled again most grimly on the pair.

Trust not a lion’s smile, all ye to live who care.

The riches of the world are smiles of Providence;

They make men proud, and lead them to their fate prepense.

Through poverty and suffering we may escape

The trap that riches bait; and so avoid the scrape. 30

The lion now addressed the wolf: “Share out the spoil.

Do justice to us all. Thou’rt versed in cunning’s foil.

Be thou my factor. Carve the game as may be fit.

So shalt thou honour win from all who see thy wit.”

The wolf then: “Royal Sir, the mountain-ox is thine.

Thou’rt great; the ox is large and fat; let none repine.

The ibex is my share. As I, so it’s the mean.

And thou, O fox, shalt have the hare. ’Tis not too lean.”

The lion interposed: “Wolf! What is this thou’st said?

I present; and to talk of ‘thou’ and ‘I,’ so staid! 35

What rubbish is a wolf, to deem himself a judge

In presence of a lion, who’ll soon make him budge?

Come hither, ass! Thyself alone it is thou’st sold!”

With this he tears the wolf to pieces, all too bold.

He saw the wolf had not one grain of common sense;

So stripped him of his hide, his life, his brain so dense.

Then said: “Since sight of me chased not all thought of self

From thee, death by my paw was due, thou wretched elf!

Thyself thou shouldst have vanquished in my presence dread.

Not having done so, thou’rt now numbered with the dead.” 40

“All perisheth, except His counsel” ’s holy writ.[334]

If we’re not of “His counsel,” life cannot us fit.

He that will lose his life for God’s sake, hath it still;

“All perisheth” hath then no power his soul to kill.

He’s of th’ excepted; not of those to perish doomed.

For, who’s excepted, saved is he. His spring hath bloomed.

But he that, in God’s court, of “me” and “thee” shall prate,

Will be cut off;--far banished from the heavenly gate.

A man once came and gaily knocked at a friend’s door.

The other asked: “Who’s there? Is this a threshing-floor?” 45

“’Tis I,” said he. “O then thou straight mayest go away.

’Tis dinner-time. Mature, not crude, must be who’d stay.

Thou’rt thou? Most crude thou art; by rawness’ self estranged.

By fire of trial those crude humours must be changed.

’Tis fire matures the crude. Let absence be the fire,

Shall purge thee of thyself, burn out all selfish mire.”

Away he went in anguish; travelled a whole year;

Saw not his friend; so pined with yearning, anxious fear;

Matured his soul with suffering’s searching throes and pains.

Then sought the door from whence he’d been repulsed, again. 50

He knocked anew,--his heart with many fears oppressed,

Lest from his lip some word unwelcome drop confessed.

Within, the question’s heard: “Who knocks at my street door?”

He answered: “Thy own second self;--though all too poor.”

The invitation followed: “Let myself walk in.

My cot’s too small for two selves to find room therein.

The thread’s not double in a needle’s single eye.

As thou’rt now single, enter. Room thou’lt find. Pray, try!”

The thread and needle have relation, each to each;

For needle’s eye a camel’s far beyond all reach. 55

How shall a camel ever be so fine and slim

Unless long fasting his redundant flesh should skim?

The hand of God is wanted, then, to make it pass;—

The God who by His word creates both man and grass.

Impossibilities are possibles to Him;

The stubbornest is docile when His will curbs whim.

The blind from birth, the leper, e’en the dead, arise,

Whole, sound, whene’er th’ Omnipotent “Come forth” but cries.

E’en non-existence, death of death, at His command,

Starts into life, compelled by His supreme demand. 60

Recite, my friend: “Each day He’s busied with a work:”[335]

And know, He’s never idle, unemployed to lurk.

His smallest daily toil,--a work like pleasure still,—

Is to send forth three armies, bound to work His will.

One, from the loins of spheres the elements to stir;

So that all plants may vegetate, from moss to fir.

One, from the wombs of mothers to earth’s surface prone,

That male and female may increase, not lie like stone.

The third hence wends its way to sepulchre’s dread bourn,

There to receive, at length, reward; and joy, or mourn. 65

Leave we this theme;—’tis endless,--never would have done.

Let’s see, now, how the friends enjoyed themselves alone.

Our host invites his guest to enter, free from scorn:

“Thou’rt welcome, self of mine! We’re not like rose and thorn.

Our thread is single,--free from knots and tangle; done,

As ‘Be,’ though duplex as to form, in sense is one.”

That “Be” ’s a rope, of power collective, to the end

That nullity may be united to a friend.

Thus duplex means are wanted, for appearances;

Though, in effect, one means there be of all that is. 70

The biped, as the quadruped, goes but one road.

The one-edged knife, the two-edged shears, make one inroad.

Observe yon pair of bleachers at their daily toil.

Apparently, they differ, combat, as they moil.

The one’s for ever wetting cloths in their stream’s tide,

The other dries them just as fast in hot noontide.

The first, again to soak the scarce-dried cloths makes haste;

As though in opposition to his partner’s waste.

But, in reality, the two have but one aim:

Co-operation’s what they jointly, both proclaim. 75

Each prophet, every saint, has his especial rite;

But, as all tend to God, they’re one, multipartite.

Sleep overcomes alike the followers of all creeds;

As water makes all mills to turn and grind, at needs.

The water flows from upwards, down upon the mill;

Its flowing through the trough is but man’s wants to fill.

No sooner has man’s need been fully satisfied,

He turns the water off;--straight in its bed it’s tied.

To teach men wisdom, stream of speech flows through the mouth;

But spirit hath another course, far less uncouth. 80

Without a voice or repetition it rolls on,

As through elysium, streams;--flowers springing aye, anon.

O Lord! Do Thou vouchsafe to my weak, erring soul

To see the realm where, voiceless, spirit thoughts may stroll,

That so my mind, in glee, on foot or head, may wing

Its flight to the far bourn that parts from nothing, thing,

Careering o’er the boundless fields of ecstasy,

Where fancy joins reality in entity.

Far-reaching more’s nonentity than fancy’s stretch;

And thus, his fancy is a source of woe to wretch. 85

Then, being’s narrower far than fancy’s power of wing;

E’en as the full moon wanes, till it becomes a string.

The world of matter and its forms is narrower still;

A prison all too strait for mind to have its will.

Plurality and composition are the cause;

Our senses these alone can comprehend, and pause.

Beyond our senses lies the world of unity.

Desirest thou unity? Beyond thy senses fly!

Divine command, “Be!” was one act; two-lettered word;

Of grave import, though short, sprung from all being’s Lord. 90

But leave we this, and turn to see how fares it now,

With our acquaintances, wolf, fox, and lion;--trow.

The lordly lion ’d torn poor wolf’s head from his tail,

That so two heads there might not be for one avail.

“On them We vengeance took”[336] ’s a well-known sacred text;

Wherefore, poor wolf, not quash thyself, when lion’s next?

The lion turned, then, to the fox, and bade him share

The prey they’d seized; that they might make a meal, not spare.

The wily fox, low bowing with a reverence meet,

Said: “Sire, the ox your share is, for your breakfast treat. 95

The ibex, then, will suffice for your midday lunch,

To serve as stop-gap in the interval of munch.

The hare a light repast will furnish ere you sleep;

The royal paunch from indigestion’s pains ’twill keep.”

The lion answered: “Well said, fox. Thou’rt justice’ self.

Who taught thee with such judgment rare to portion pelf?

Where didst thou learn to do full justice with great art?”

Said he: “My Lord, to teach me was that dead wolf’s part.”

The lion thus replied: “For us much love thou’st shown.

Take thou all three unto thyself, as very own. 100

Good fox! Thou’st given up thyself entire, for us.

Why should I injure thee? Thou’rt I myself. No fuss!

Myself am thine; the prey is thine; all,--every bit.

Exalt thy head above the spheres. For that thou’rt fit.

Thou’st taken warning from that wretched, selfish wolf.

No longer fox art thou, my lion, my own self!

A wise head ever lessons learns from others’ ills,—

Who sees his neighbours victims fall, knows what them kills.”

The fox now thanked his stars a hundred, thousandfold,

For that the lion first the wolf to share had told; 105

And reasoned: “Had he given me first his high command

To share the prey, my life I had not kept in hand.

Then praise to Him who ’th placed me low in this world’s scale,

To follow after mightier ones when they regale.”

So have we heard God’s judgments wrought in ages past

On people of the eld;--set forth as mountains fast,

That we may learn from them,--the wolves of early days.

Then let us, as the fox, glean wisdom from those lays.

“God’s people sanctified” ’s the title on us cast,

By God’s own Prophet, truthful witness, and the last. 110

The bones, the skeletons of all those old-world wolves,

Consider well, ye readers;--think upon yourselves.

Who’s wise will from his heart cast out all fond conceits

Of greatness, when he hears of ‘Ād’s[337] and Pharaoh’s feats.

Unless he warning take from what on others fell,

Men shall a moral draw from his case, sad to tell.

Cried Noah: “Ye stiff-necked race! I am not I, indeed.

My self I’ve sacrificed; of God’s love have I need.

From every fleshly sense and wish I’m severed, quite.

God is my light, my mind, my visual organ’s site. 115

I am not I. The breath I breathe is God’s own breath.

Whoe’er gainsays this word, blasphemes, courts his own death.

Within my form of fox there lurks the lion’s power;

Against this feeble fox ’tis useless now to lower.

Unless you lay aside scorn for my fox’s form,

You’ll hear the lion growl more fierce than raging storm.”

If Noah had not possessed the mighty aid of God,

Could he a world have upside down turned with a nod?

Within his form whole herds of lions, as one paw,

Lay hid. A fire was he; the world a stack of straw. 120

That misled straw refused to pay its tithe to him.

Fire flashed. Forthwith the straw in smoke and flames sank grim.

Whoe’er ’gainst the hidden lion in saint’s form

Upraise the voice of pride, like to our wolf, base worm,

Shall, like that wolf, be torn by lion piecemeal quite;

The text: “On them we vengeance took” he shall recite.[338]

A stroke shall lay him low, as wolf by lion’s paw.

A madman must he be who’d rush in lion’s maw.

O that the stroke had fallen upon the body frail;

And that the heart and faith had ’scaped! ’Twere vast avail! 125

Upon this point I feel my strength must all give way.

How shall I tell the secrets of this mystic play?

Just like the fox, do you yourselves deny in all.

In lion’s presence raise no cavil, or you’ll fall.

Relinquish thoughts of “I” and “We” when “He” ’s afield.

The kingdom is the Lord’s; to God the kingdom yield.

The straight way enter all, like paupers as you are.

The lion and the prey will both fall to your share.

God is a spirit pure. All-Glorious is His name!

He hath no need of praise, of honour, glory, fame! 130

All these, and all besides, whatever may befall,

Upon His servants He bestows. He’s Lord of all!

God hath no envy, wish, desire for creatures’ ruths;

And blessed is he who takes to heart this truth of truths.

’Twas He created both worlds;--all their pomp and pride.

Shall He desire what He hath made in His own tide?

Keep, then, your hearts pure in the sight of God the Lord,

That you may never be ashamed of thought or word.

He knows the secrets, aims, desires of all your hearts;

They’re patent to Him, as a hair in milk at marts. 135

Whoever hath a breast cleansed from all thoughts of guile,

His breast a mirror is, where heavenly truths will smile.

Its secrets are all known to God;--its every part;

“Believer’s heart’s the mirror of believer’s heart.”

He tries our metal on the touchstone of His law.

The fine, the base, He will distinguish, without flaw.

Our talents being tried by His omniscient skill,

What’s good, what’s bad, will sure appear, plain, by His will. 139

XII.

Joseph and the Mirror.

The kings of yore a custom had, so I’ve been told,

Of course thou’st heard it;--must remember it, of old,

On their left hand their champions took their usual place;

Because the heart is on the left of body’s space.

Their chancellor and scribes stood on their right hand all;

In that the writer’s art to the right hand doth fall.

Before their face the holy teachers stood erect,—

The mirrors of the soul;--than mirror more correct.

Their breasts they’ve polished with the acts of thought and praise,

That, mirror-like, they catch each image facts may raise. 5

Each object born in nature with a lovely mien

Should always have a mirror set to catch its sheen.

A beauteous face enamoured is with mirror’s glance;

Heart’s piety’s the polish best the soul can chance.

A friend of tried sincerity came from afar,

And guest became with trusty Joseph;--free from bar.

They had been friends before, in childhood’s artless days;

Had leant their elbows on one cushion, in their ways.

His brethren’s envy and wrong-dealing touched upon,

Said Joseph: “’Twas a chain. It bound a lion. ‘Non! 10

Disgrace affects not lions, if with chains they’re bound.

With God’s decree I quarrel not;--it’s always sound.

A lion with a chain around his lordly neck,

Is still the lord of them who forged the chain as check.”

The friend asked: “How wert, in the well, the prison, cast?”

Said Joseph: “As the moon in wane and change at last.”

At change, the new moon’s bent in two, a poor weak thing,

But ripens to the full apace, night’s matchless king.[339]

Pearls in a mortar pounded are, by chance, sometimes;

Still, they’re esteemed a joy to glad eyes in all climes. 15

Then, grains of wheat are cast into the lowly earth;

But golden ears thence spring, a source of glee and mirth.

These, too, are ground to dust in mill;--vile as to show;

Increased in value, thence, bread it becomes, we know.

Again ’tis crushed between the teeth; to chyme it turns,

And feeds the mind, the thoughts, the soul;--in wisdom burns.

The soul, in turn, is subject to the stress of love;

New miracles, as seen, “the sowers marvel”[340] prove.

But truce to these reflections; let us follow now

The words of Joseph’s friend. ’Tis worth while these to know. 20

That conversation closed, said Joseph to his guest:

“What gift, my friend, hast brought in token of thy zest?”

To go with empty hands and visit friends long missed,

Is like a man who goes to mill without his grist.

E’en God will ask His creatures in the judgment day:

“What offerings have you brought to meet your Maker? Say!

‘Alone, and empty-handed? Is it thus you come?

E’en as We first created you? Gifts left at home?’[341]

What have you brought as timely offerings in your hands?

What are the gifts with which you’d grace your new life’s lands? 25

Or, was it that you’d no belief in this return?

Our promise of this day by you was laughed to scorn?

If you denied thus the hope to be My guest,

Then dust and ashes wait you in My realm, at best.

If you did not deny it, whence your empty hands?

How come you to a friend’s gate, scorning just demands?”

Put by a little from thy daily meat and drink,

So shalt thou have a store for offerings’ binding link.

“Sleep little” when thou art of those “who lay them down.”[342]

“Of mornings,” be of them who “ask for pardon’s crown.”[343] 30

Give signs of life, though slight;--as babes do in the womb;

So may God grant thee inward light to cheer thy tomb.

And when thou ’scapest from dark and narrow prison there,

Then mayst thou soar from earth beyond the realms of air.

“The spacious land of God” ’tis named in holy writ,[344]

The land to which the prophets all have gladly flit.

The heart is never lonesome in that vast abode;

Its green trees never wither, frosts no leaves corrode.

If now thou load thyself with sensual burden’s weight,

Fatigued and jaded, faint thou’lt prove beneath their freight. 35

In sleep thou bearest no burden; borne thou art, instead.

Fatigue is thence recruited;--strength regains its head.

Know then, thy sleep’s a foretaste of what is to come,

From the rapt state of saints arriving at their home.

The saints were well prefigured by the “Sleepers Seven.”[345]

“Their sleep,” “their stretchings,” “their awaking,”

lead to heaven.

Without the least exertion on their parts by acts,

The “right and left-hand registers” draw them by facts.

The “right-hand register” ’s the record of good deeds;[346]

The “left-hand register” ’s the list of fleshly greeds.[347] 40

But both of these abolished are in case of saints.

To them such things are but as echo dies and faints.

Though good and evil may their echoes round thee peal,

The echoing mountain hears them not in the ordeal.

Now Joseph once again inquired: “What offering bringest?”

His friend, ashamed of urgent pressing, sighed. Thou singest?

Said he: “Full many offerings have I sought and seen;

But none was worthy of thee; or I much misween.

How could I bring a diamond to its native mine;

Or add a drop of water to a sea of brine? 45

Shall I to Kāshān cummin bring, whence it is drawn,[348]

By offering up my life and soul to beauty’s fawn?

I know no rarity that’s not surpassed by thee;

Thy loveliness the rarity men nowhere see.

The fittest present, then, I’ve found, a mirror is.

And this I’ve brought; unsullied, bright, refulgent ’tis.[349]

Therein thou’lt contemplate thy beauteous, matchless face,

As beaming as the sun that decorates sky’s space.

A mirror have I brought, thou charming, witching one;

In it admire thyself; and think of me, when gone.” 50

The mirror now he drew from underneath his skirt.

A mirror is, to beauty, with attractions girt.

In non-existence’ mirror if existence gleams,

Present this mirror to it, thou, as best beseems.

In non-existence mirrored, being we may see;

As wealthy men their wealth may show by beggars’ glee.

The hungry man’s the mirror best shows what is bread.

And tinder mirrors flint and steel’s gleam, quickly spread.

Wherever want, defect, is seen, beauty’s most prized.

The mirror of perfection’s then best realised. 55

If clothes grew, ready cut and sewn, to meet our needs,

Where’d be the use of tailor’s art, to fashion weeds?

The unhewn trunk is needed, for the carver’s skill,

And carpenter, to cut out thence his frames, his thill.

The surgeon hastens to the couch where suffering lies;

Where limbs are broken, there his bandages he ties.

Were there no patient, malady, no fever, ache,

Could art sublime, the medical, its marvels make?

If humble brass and copper were not to be found,

Th’ alchemist’s stone could not to gold transmute them round. 60

Defect is thus the mirror whence perfection’s seen;

And vileness is the foil to show off grandeur’s sheen.

By contrast does each opposite its fellow show,

Sweet honey by sharp vinegar we best can know.

The man who sees and feels his imperfections sore,

Exerts himself to cure them quickly all the more.

And he’ll ne’er take his flight towards heaven’s eternal King,

Who holds at heart the thought that he’s a perfect thing.

No worse disease exists, to taint the human mind,

Than self-conceit, that paints its owner gold refined. 65

How many bitter tears has not the vain to shed,

Ere arrogance can be expelled, and pride be dead!

The malady of Satan,--self-conceit:—“I’m best,”[350]

Exists in germ in every panting human breast.

These fancy they have mortified themselves throughout.

Take them to be pure streams; their filth seek in the grout.

Just stir them up a little, for a trial’s sake;

Thou’lt see their mud discolour all the water’s lake.

There’s ooze at bottom of the pond,--be sure of that,—

However clear the surface of the dull dead flat. 70

Our greatest teacher is endowed with fair device.

He digs a conduit in the very soil of vice.

How can he make the water of that conduit pure?

All human wisdom’s but one spark from God’s vast store.

Does sword inflict a wound in its own handle,--blade?

Find me a surgeon who shall cure a gash so made.

Where wound exists, the flies will ever flock amain,

To hide its hideousness from sight, and lull the pain,

Those flies the symbols are of man’s vain, baseless thoughts;

The wound they cover over’s ignorance high-wrought. 75

’Tis only when the teacher salve applies with skill,

The throes are quieted that shoot across man’s will.

He then imagines that his wound is healing fast.

Effect this is of cunning used, that salve to cast.

O man, whose back is galled, accept his salve with thanks.

Thy solace thence arises; not from thy own pranks. 78

XIII.

The Prophet’s First Amanuensis.

There was a scribe,[351] before ‘Uthmān[352] had filled that post,

Most diligent in noting revelation’s host.

Whatever text the Prophet had to promulgate

On parchment did this scribe trace all its terms of fate.

The splendour of those inspirations filled his soul.

His mind became enlightened, as a glowing coal.

The substance of that wisdom from the Prophet came.

The silly scribe imagined ’twas his genius’ flame:

“The texts the Prophet promulgates with rare effect,

Appear _verbatim_ in my mind, without defect.” 5

The Prophet was aware of this egregious sin.

The wrath of God descended from high heaven’s welkin.

The scribe renounced his office, and his faith at once.

Religion’s fiercest foe he stood now, for the nonce.

The Prophet questioned him: “Benighted, wretched man!

If light there be in thee, whence this thy darkest plan?

Hadst thou a fountain of God’s truth been, verily,

This turbid stream had never flowed thence, heavily.”

Not caring to expose his scribe to all his friends,

The Prophet held his peace, to watch th’ adventure’s ends. 10

The scribe’s heart hardened more and more as time rolled on.

Repentance he felt not; his pride grew thereupon.

He sighed. His sighs were not the signs of contrite heart;

But tokens sure that justice made him feel its smart.

God caused his pride to weigh more heavy than a chain.

How many thus are fettered; none can heal their pain.

His blasphemy and pride held him in iron grip;

His very sighs he felt constrained to stifle on his lip.

He cried: “‘The iron collars they’re compelled to wear;’[353]

There’s naught but iron collars; these are all we bear! 15

‘Behind them is a barrier; but We’ve bound their eyes.’[354]

So that they see not what’s before, behind those ties.”

The barrier so upreared appears a level plain;

He knows not ’tis a bourn that checks him like a chain.

Thy witness is a barrier, bars sight of the Lord;

Thy teacher is a veil, shuts out God’s holy word.

How many infidels, oh! long faith to possess!

Their pride, their honour, stands between them and success.

That barrier, unseen, ’s than iron firmer still.

An axe can hew through iron; not through stubborn will. 20

A bond of iron may be broken by due means;

A moral bond is what holds firmest, where it leans.

A bee, a wasp, may sting one to the very quick;

Yet may the same be warded by precaution’s trick.

But what’s to do when sting is in our very selves?

The pain is then most biting, deeper far it delves.

Unwillingly has leaped this subject from my mind.

I fear ’twill leave despair in many, deep behind.

Despair thou not; take consolation to thy soul;

And cry to that Deliverer who can make thee whole: 25

“Thou Lover of forgiveness! Pardon to me grant!

Physician of the soul! Relieve my direful want!”

Such counsel wise drove mad that erring sinner, quite.

Think not of him. ’Twill tire thy mind beyond respite.

My friend! This counsel tells with equal force on thee.

It flows through all the saints, though transient thou it see.

Within the house a gleam of light has been espied.

This light comes from a neighbour’s lamp, with oil supplied.

Give thanks for it. Be not puffed up. Snort not, good man!

To me lend ear. Presumption chase to utmost span. 30

Alas! that this most transient ray of dubious light,

The nations has seduced from God’s sole path of right.

I’ll be the very slave of him, who, at each stage,

Will not suppose the goal ’tis of his pilgrimage.

How many stages are there must be left behind,

Before the traveller reach the home he bears in mind.

Although the iron may glow red, the colour’s not

Its own; ’tis but reflection of the fire that’s hot.

A window or a house with light may be suffused;

But still, the source of light is in the sun, diffused. 35

Each wall, each gate, may cry amain: “I shine! I shine!

I have no need of other’s light. ’Tis mine! ’Tis mine!”

But then the sun demurs: “O thing of little sense!

So soon as I shall set, thy darkness will be dense!”

The plants may think their verdure’s all their very own.

So fresh, so green; so pleasant every flower full-blown.

But then again the summer season makes comment:

“When I am past, your present charms will soon be spent.”

A beauty’s lovely body prides itself as fair.

Her spirit, having hid itself within its lair, 40

Remarks: “Thou dunghill! Wherefore all this silly pride?

Thou bloomest but a day or two, while I preside.

Thy affectation, vanity, ’s too vast for me.

But stay till I depart: then straightway thou shalt see.

Thy lovers then shall loathe thy charms, adored before.

To worms, and toads, and snakes they’ll fling thee, as cheap store.

Thy stench shall make him hold his nose in deep disgust,

Who lately in thy presence would have licked the dust.”

Reflections from the spirit are the tongue, the eye, the ear.

Accessions from the fire steam’s bubbles ’tis upbear. 45

E’en as the soul’s reflection on the body acts,

Reflection from th’ inspiring saints my soul impacts.

When my soul’s life shall quit my soul, alack-a-day!

My soul shall lifeless be, like mortal soulless clay.

’Tis therefore that I cast myself down in the dust,

That earth may witness bear for me before th’ All-Just.

In day of judgment, “when the earth shall quake with fear,”[355]

Earth shall itself bear witness to my prayerful tear.

Command shall issue: “Loud proclaim the acts thou’st seen.”

The earth, the rocks, a tongue shall find, to tell what’s been. 50

Philosophers deny this, in their pride of mind;

But tell them: “Dash your heads against a wall, ye blind!”

The speech of earth, of water, and of plastic clay,

Is audible unto the ears of saints that pray.

Philosophers who will deny God’s saving grace,

Are strangers to the powers of saints’ inspired race.

He holds that inclination, working on man’s brain,

Gives rise to heated phantasy’s legerdemain.

True, his own blasphemy and lack of firm belief

Have raised in him denial’s phantom, reason’s thief. 55

Philosophers deny the devil does exist;

While they themselves his sport are, in his cursed fist.

Hast never seen the devil? Look at thy own self!

Who’d paint his forehead blue, unless deceived by elf?[356]

Whoever hath a doubt or trouble in his mind,

In secret’s a philosopher, as you may find.

He wears the outward semblance of belief; but then,

Anon and ever his philosophy claims pen.

Beware, all ye believers! In you lurks this germ;

Within yourselves lies latent vile deception’s sperm. 60

The two and seventy sects are all within your hearts,[357]

And only wait a chance to play their fatal parts.

Whoever hath the bud of faith grown in his breast,

As aspen-leaf must tremble, lest it be supprest.

Thou laughest at the devil in thy foolish pride;

Thyself thou hast imagined sin’s stern deicide.

But when thy soul shall manifested be to all,

Sad sighs and moans shall rise from those who’re seen to fall.

Exhibitors of base coin in this world below

Smile now; the touchstone yet is hidden in form’s glow. 65

O Veiler of men’s sins! Lift not Thy veil from us![358]

In day of trial be our Helper, gracious!

Adulteration now contends with purest coin;

The gold awaits the day of trial to rejoin.

It slily thinks in its mute way, without ado:

“Await a little, false ones! Trial comes! Soho!

For was not Satan’s self, in ages long gone by,

Of light an angel, Prince of Powers, a galaxy,

Until he envied Adam in his froward heart?

And then he fell, an outcast from heaven’s high rampart. 70

The son of Beor, Balaam, in the world’s esteem,

Was equal unto Moses. So all men did deem.

To him alone was homage paid by high and low;

His prayers were reckoned medicine for every woe.

To Moses he opposed himself, in foolish pride.

The Scripture tells us how most miserably he died.[359]

Of Balaams, and of Satans, in this world of ours,

Some manifest, some secret, troops come at all hours.

God granteth them celebrity within their spheres,

That they may witness bear against their own compeers. 75

Then, both are elevated on a gallows high,

As warning unto others who for honours sigh.

They both were covetous of homage and applause;

And both received due punishment through God’s just laws.

Thou, man, perchance, the idol of some crowd mayst be.

For God’s sake, then, beware thou transgress not as he.

And setting up thyself against a better man,

Thou come to grief, and bring to wreck thy every plan.

The tales of ‘Ād[360] and Thamūd[361] have the moral clear,

That saints of God, and righteous men, are held more dear. 80

Those signs, and swift destruction overwhelming them,

Proclaim aloud the power that saints around does hem.

As brutes are slain that man may live a life of ease,

So men are slaughtered when they sin ’gainst God’s decrees.

For, what is wisdom? ’Tis th’ omniscience divine.

Man’s wisdom is but folly, set against that mine.

The brutes are timid, shun man’s presence everywhere;

Though man, in numbers, yields to them within this sphere.

Their blood may lawfully be shed for needs of man;

Because they lack th’ ennobling spark of reason’s scan. 85

The brute is held of low degree on this our earth;

As being weighed against great man’s superior worth.

What value will attach to thee, thou arrant fool,

If, like an ass, thou spite the lords of reason’s school?

The ass, that renders service meet unto his lord,

Men slay not. ’Tis the wild ass does them chase afford.

The ass reaps naught of recompense for merit due;

Yet, when he errs, fell punishment awaits him, true.

If man, then, go astray, much more he’s worthy blame;

Most justly shall chastisement visit him with shame. 90

The blood of misbelievers righteously is shed,

With sword and arrow, like wild ass on mountain fed.

Their wives and children fall a prey to victor’s hand;

In that they lack true wisdom, cursed of God they stand.

The reasonable creature fleeing reason’s Lord,

Renounces reason, brute becomes, calls for the sword.

Hārūt, Mārūt,[362] two angels famed throughout the earth,

Through pride and insolence lost paradise for dearth.

They trusted in the wondrous power they held of old;

As though a buffalo ’gainst lion should wax bold. 95

His horns are mighty weapons, fearful to the foe;

The lion tears him piecemeal; horns but work him woe.

Had he as many horns as hedgehog quills, all o’er,

They’d help him not; the lion still would him o’erpow’r.

The hurricane roots up the forest trees amain;

While pliant reeds from it no injury sustain.

The fury of the blast hurts not their supple ease.

Of strength, then, boast thee not, man. Seek wrath to appease.

The axe is nothing daunted, seeing boughs of trees;

But, one by one, hews through them all; their end foresees. 100

The axe sets not its trenchant edge to lop off leaves;

’Tis not the silky down of thistles that it cleaves.

A flame is not abashed, though many thorns collect;

Whole herds of sheep can never butcher’s knife deflect.

To inward idea’s power the outward sign must yield.

That power, ’tis, makes revolve the heavens’ vast starry field.

The sphere, the circling firmament, consider now.

What makes it turn? A force that rest will not allow.

The movements of our bodies have no other source;—

The soul it is originates all vital force. 105

The circulation of the air’s from an idea;

The millstone turns by water from the fields’ area.

The ebb and flow of tides, breath drawn, again expired,

Whence all? ’Tis life compels, diffused through all, respired.

The spirit ’tis decides what words our pen shall write;

Or peace, or war, or anything our minds indite.

To right, to left we go, e’en as the spirit wills;

A rose, a thorn,--the spirit says which place it fills.

Our God it was who sent this vital air in blasts,

Like breath of dragons, to destroy old ‘Ād’s[363] outcasts. 110

While to the faithful it gave peace, and health, and strength;

In gentle zephyrs softly breathing whole days’ length.

The Prophet hath assured us God’s the soul of all.

The Lord’s the ocean whence the rills of spirit fall.

The strata of the heavens and earth, with all therein,

Are merely straws afloat on waves where powers begin.

They dance about, are carried here and there by turns;

Their movement’s from the waves that power divine still churns.

Decrees this they shall be at rest? At once they’re flung

Aside upon the shore, there to decay like dung. 115

Wills it that they be tossed about on waves high-flown?

They’re but the leaves of autumn by the wild winds blown.

Now turn we from this subject, most engaging still,

To learn about those angels, victims of self-will.

The sins of all mankind were known to them as sure;

No wickedness escapes the glance of spirits pure.

In anger at such baseness they were moved to scorn;

Their own defect was hidden from their sight, heaven-born.

An ugly man once saw his face in looking-glass.

He turned away enraged with that reflecting mass. 120

So, when one self-conceited sees another’s fault,

A flame from hell is lighted in his bad heart’s vault.

’Tis pride inflames him;--holy zeal he dubs it straight;

Not conscious of the vanity that makes his freight.

A zeal for holiness by other tokens shines;

And lights a fire by which to ashes earth declines.

God said to them: “If you both shine with virtue’s ray,

No notice take of man’s backslidings from its way.

Give thanks and praises, rather, you’re not made like them.

Lusts of the flesh, concupiscence, soil not your stem. 125

Had I imposed upon you that great burden, sore;

The heavens would not have been your home for evermore.

The chastity that decks your spirit-nature now,

Reflection is of purity that lights My brow.

Know, this is but a quality you hold from Me.

So shall th’ accursed one not make you slaves to be!”

E’en as the Prophet’s scribe, with self-importance puffed,

Imagined holy wisdom’s light shone as he’d stuffed.

Himself he fancied equal of prophetic quire;

His raven croak as their sweet song he dared admire. 130

He who sets up to write the notes of every bird,

Knows not th’ inspiring springs within their bosom stirred.

Could man acquire the note of nightingale so sweet,

Would he have learnt as well its love the rose to meet?

Should he achieve a notion of that love’s intent;

’Twould be mere surmise, like deaf man’s from lips’ consent.

Such deaf man once was made aware by some kind friend,

That next door dwelt an invalid near to his end.

The poor man thought within himself: “I’m deaf as stone,

How can I hope to comprehend this neighbour’s tone? 135

More ’specially as sick men speak so very low.

Still, go I must; mere decency demands my bow.

When I advance, he’ll me address,--his lips will move.

From thence I’ll glean a notion, may not quite false prove.

I’ll ask him how he feels to-day, ’mid so much pain.

He’ll answer surely: ‘Thank you; better in the main.’

Reply I will: ‘Most happy! How’s the appetite?’

He’ll answer: ‘Pretty good, if chicken-broth invite.’

I’ll say: ‘Good! Good! And what are you allowed to drink?

Who is your doctor?’ He’ll respond, as one may think. 140

Then I’ll remark: ‘With so much talent at command,

You can’t do better. Soon I hope to see you stand.

I’ve had experience of his skill; I know his worth;

With him as guide, you’ll not go wrong.’ So forth.”

Thus having got his fancied answers all by heart,

He goes to see the sick man; deftly plays his part.

On asking: “How are you?” the patient says: “Near dead.”

The deaf man straight rejoins: “Of that I’m very glad.”

The sufferer felt insulted by this joy expressed.

The deaf one had surmised,--had failed in what he’d guessed. 145

He now inquired the diet: “Oh! It’s poison all!”

Complained the sick man. “Glad to hear it,” he let fall.

Still more the patient wondered. “Who attends you, pray?”

Asked Deafy; “whose advice is’t leads you on your way?”

“Death tracks my hours!” said he; “pray leave me now to rest.”

The other answered: “Better can’t be found; he’s best.”

The visitor retired, quite pleased with his rich art;

And offered thanks for having played so kind a part.

The sick man, on the contrary, was all on fire:

“Whence comes this malice? Who has roused his soul to ire?” 150

So, turning in his mind the matter o’er and o’er,

A message he determines that shall pay the score.

Just so, a man who’s eaten ill-digesting food,

Can have no rest till it’s ejected, well and good.

Long-suffering is thy better part, reject it not;

With patience, thou shalt find soft words best heal a plot.

But our sick man found no such solace for his mind;

He called the deaf one “Ass,” and “Fool,” and “Sot,” and “Blind.”

Said he: “I’ll serve him out; I’ll pay him what’s his due!

Till then, my spirit will his hateful visit rue! 155

A visit to the sick’s for consolation’s sake;

His visit I abhor, his insults I’ll not take.

He’s wished to gloat on foe laid prostrate at his feet;

Some joy to gather thence his secret hate to greet.”

How many pious men there are, to outward view,

Reward of joy in heaven, as object, who pursue.

At heart they’re sinners still, despite the show they make.

Alas! Hypocrisy for righteousness they take!

Just as our deaf man thought he’d done a friendly act;

And yet, withal, had vexed his neighbour, as a fact. 160

He soothed his soul by thinking: “Kindly part I’ve played!

I’ve acted as a neighbour! Sorrow I’ve allayed!”

Whereas, in truth, a fire he’d lighted for himself;

And his sick neighbour’s heart inspired with vengeful elf.

Beware the fires you kindle by such acts as this!

Beware offence to give, while proffering a kiss!

The Prophet said one was a hypocrite, he knew:

“Go, worship, friend; thy act’s no worship, as I trew!”

For fear lest we should trespass, even as we pray,

Our worship has the prayer: “Lord, guide us in Thy way!”[364] 165

“Permit not Thou, O God, that my devotion’s act

Be counted erring hypocrite’s unwelcome pact!”

The surmise of our deaf man wide was of the mark.

A ten years’ friendship ’twould have wrecked! Beware such spark!

Man’s judgment, friend, that’s based on sense’s treacherous sand,

Can never be compared with revelation’s wand.

Hast ear to hear? Hast mind to recognise the truth?

Know, then, thy moral ear is deaf to godly sooth!

The first who followed sense, and reason--as he thought--

Instead of God’s true light, the devil was, we’re taught. 170

He judged: “The fire more noble is than sordid earth;

From fire was I created; clay gave Adam birth.

The stock from whence it springs decides each kind of fruit;

From darkness Adam’s sprung; light at my birth did suit.”

The Lord replied: “’Tis not a question of descent.

Pre-eminence is here the prize of righteous bent.

’Tis not a heritage of worldly wealth to share.

Why talk of ancestry? Heart’s qualities declare.

The heritage we’ve now to give is prophecy;

The heirs thereto are they whose spirits hate a lie. 175

The son of Abū-Jahl believed, and saved his soul;[365]

A son of Noah rebelled; became perdition’s goal.[366]

The son of earth was made resplendent as the moon;

Thou, son of fire, begone, disgraced, cursed, none too soon!”

Investigations, reasonings, on days of cloud,

By night, in darkness, guide the doubting crowd;

But, when the sun shines,--when God’s temple’s clearly seen,

No doubt remains which way to turn one’s face, I ween.

The temple hidden, its direction quite unknown,—

Then use thy judgment. God this method’s kindly shown.[367] 180

Whene’er you hear a note of God’s truth-warbling bird,[368]

You straightway seize its literal sense, just as ’tis heard.

You then use suppositions of your darksome mind,

And form, through wrong conclusions, guesses worse than blind.

The saints use terms of technical significance,

Unknown to worldly reasoners’ crass ignorance.

The language of the bird you learn, as to its notes;

But clean destroy its sense; as sure as fancy dotes.

E’en as the sick man of our tale, saints’ hearts are grieved;

Though, like the deaf man, you suppose you’ve good achieved. 185

The scribe of writ inspired had all its text by heart;

Then thought himself inspired;--would play a prophet’s part.

The Prophet, warbler-like, smote him with powerful wing;

He forthwith sank to blind despair, through conscience’ sting.

So ’tis with you. Perversely, or with vain surmise,

You would interpret words descended from the skies.

Like Hārūt, and like Mārūt, well you’ve learnt the tune

They sang of old in pride: “We’re God’s elect,” jejune.

You pray for grace on all the sins of wicked men;

You curse your own foul egotism, greed’s hungry ken. 190

Beware lest God’s just jealousy break forth amain,

And smite you to the earth, ne’er more to rise again.

Those angels owned, in words: “To rule is Thine, O God.

Without Thy strong protection, safety’s soon downtrod.”

Such were their lip-words. But their hearts’ rebellious pride,

With foolish boasting, thought: “No harm can us betide.”

They never ceased to brood on vanities thus framed,

Till fire of arrogance burst forth from breasts inflamed;

Then proclamation made: “O elemental men!

How little have ye known the range of angel’s ken. 195

We’ll weave dense curtains o’er the sky’s revolving face;

Descending then to earth, we’ll there our temple place.

We’ll justice distribute, and worship we’ll commend,

Returning every night to heaven, whence we descend.

So shall we be admired by all who dwell on earth,

And fill the world with gladness, safety, peace, and mirth.”

Alas! Such fancy’s false! Earth cannot heaven be;

Their difference is radical, as all may see! 199

XIV.

The Chinese and Roman Artists.

Give ear to this advice from one who’s well informed:

“Lay down your head where’er by wine you’ve been transformed.”

Whene’er a drunken man reels forth from tavern door,

A laughingstock he’s made by urchin and by boor.

Now here, now there, he lurches, stumbling on his road;

Falls in the mire; is mocked and jeered, scorned as a toad.

The children of the neighbourhood his steps surround,

Unconscious what is wine’s hilarity profound.

So are all people children, round the saints of God;

5 None adults are, save they who’ve cast off passion’s clod.

’Twas said: “The world’s a toy, a plaything; and men all

Are infants.”[369] These are God’s words. True in sense they fall.

No child but loves his toys, his playthings, games, and sports;

By cultivation of the mind man sense imports.

Man’s love for worldly things is like child’s love for toys;

The child and man, in these, repeat each other’s joys.

The child, in play, performs the very selfsame part,

He’ll act when grown a hero, learnt debating art.

Men’s quarrels are the same as those fought out by boys;

They’re senseless, reasonless; they squabble for mere toys. 10

Their weapons are but wooden swords, as used in play;

Their objects are not worth a thought, by night or day.

They mount their hobby-horses, ride about on sticks;

Declaring ’tis Bucephalus, Eclipse, that kicks.

’Tis they who bear a burden, pack-horse-like, or ass;

Their vanity converts them into horsemen’s mass.

So let it be till that day when God’s riders shall,

On steeds of fire, transcend the seventh heaven’s rolling ball.

“The spirit and the angels mount unto their God.”[370]

The spheres shall shake, when under saintly footsteps trod. 15

Whereas the raff of mankind mount their own coat-tails;

Imagining they’re horsemen, prancing as ship sails.

The Lord hath said: “Imagining’s of no avail.”[371]

Imagination’s steed to scale heaven’s heights must fail.

Imagination’s best is but a choice of doubts;

Man ne’er disputes about the sun, whate’er the whim he flouts.

The time will come, he’ll see what wretched screw he rides;

That which he deemed a courser’s but his own shanks’ sides.

His senses, thoughts, and reasonings, he then will find,

Are but the infant’s hobby,--pa’s cane, more refined. 20

The wisdom of the saints is what bears them aloft.

The science of the worldly is their load;--how oft!

The wisdom of the heart sustains and elevates;

But knowledge sensuously acquired as burden rates.

’Tis God hath said: “An ass with volumes for his load.”[372]

So knowledge is a burden, when not of God’s code.

All science not received from word of God direct,

Hath no endurance; paint it is; our eyes detect.

Still, if man bear his burden well, he’s recompensed;

His burden is removed; ease to him is dispensed. 25

See, then, you bear not science’ load from fleshly lust;

Lest you should suffer inwardly fatigue,--disgust;

But mount the agile steed of sacred lore divine;

So shall the burden on your back at once decline.

Unless you drink His cup, how ’scape from fleshly lust?

O you, who, in His name, content are with the Just!

When from His name and attributes some inkling’s born,

This inkling points the road to union one fair morn.

Thou’st never known a guide, but some one must be led;

And when no road is travelled, gnome can’t dog man’s tread. 30

Thou’st never heard a name, but indicates a thing;

A flower thou’st never plucked from verbal _rosa_’s ding.

Hast thou pronounced a name? Straightway the thing ensue.

The moon seek in the sky;--not in lake-waters, blue.

But wouldst thou cast aside all names and words, as vain,

Thyself, then, purge of self. Abstraction thou shalt gain.

Wouldst be a sword? Cast off soft iron’s yield refined;

By discipline the mirror burnish of thy mind.

Discharge thyself of every particle of self;

So shalt thou see thyself pure, free from soil of pelf. 35

Within thy heart thou’lt see the wisdom of the saints,

Without a book, a teacher, or professor’s plaints.

The Prophet said: “That man is one of my true flock,

Whose heart and mind are hewn from my own calling’s rock.

His soul perceives me through the selfsame holy light

That unto me reveals his soul serenely bright.

Reports, traditions, chains of evidence, are lost;

When soul communes with soul, minds freely can accost.”

This riddle solve: “A Kurd I last night was, by birth;

And then, this morning, Arab am, by afterbirth.”[373] 40

If one, sincere, a Kurdish boor was overnight,

Sincerity an Arab made him by daylight.

Example seekest of science springing in the heart?

This contest heed of Chinaman and Roman’s art.[374]

The Chinese urged they had the greater painter’s skill.

The Romans pleaded they of art the throne did fill.

The sovereign heard them both; decreed a contest fair;

Results the palm should give the worthiest of the pair.

The parties twain a wordy war waged in debate;

The Romans’ show of science did predominate. 45

The Chinamen then asked to have a house assigned

For their especial use; and one for Rome designed,

Th’ allotted houses stood on either side one street;

In one the Chinese, one the Roman, artists meet.

The Chinese asked a hundred paints for their art’s use;

The sovereign his resources would not them refuse.

Each morning from the treasury rich colours’ store

Was served out to the Chinese till they asked no more.

The Romans argued: “Colour or design is vain;

We simply have to banish soil and filth amain.” 50

They closed their gate. To burnish then they set themselves;

As heaven’s vault, simplicity filled all their shelves.

Vast difference there is ’twixt colours and not one.

The colours are as clouds; simplicity’s the moon.

Whatever tinge you see embellishing the clouds,

You know comes from the sun, the moon, or stars in crowds.

At length the Chinamen their task had quite fulfilled.

With joy intense their hearts did beat, their bosoms thrilled.

The sovereign came, inspected all their rich designs,

And lost his heart with wonder at their talents’ signs. 55

He then passed to the Romans, that his eyes might see.

The curtains were withdrawn, to show whate’er might be.

The Chinese paintings all, their whole designs in full,

Reflected truly were on that high-burnished wall.

Whatever was depicted by the Chinese art

Was reproduced by mirrors, perfect every part.

Those Romans are our mystics;--know, my worthy friend;

No art, no learning; study, none;--but gain their end.

They polish well their bosoms, burnish bright their hearts,

Remove all stain of lust, of self, pride, hate’s deep smarts. 60

That mirror’s purity prefigures their hearts’ trust;

With endless images reflections it incrust.

The formless Form the thousand thousand hidden forms

Flashed in his breast on Moses’ heart, like mirrored storms.

That Form, ’tis true, the heaven of heavens cannot contain;

Nor all the space between the zenith and the main.

These numbered are, and limited within their bounds;

The mirror of the heart is boundless in its rounds.

Here, reason stands aghast, O erring child of sense;

The heart’s with God,--the heart is God,--boundless, immense! 65

From all eternity, the figures of all things,

Unnumbered, multitudinous, gleam in heart’s wings.

To all eternity each new-created form

In heart of saint reflected is, most multiform.

His polished heart is cleansed from being’s soiling stain;

And at each moment contemplates fresh beauty’s train.

The outward gilt, the shell, of science they despise;

The banner of real certitude floats where they rise.

They’ve thought abandoned; light and life they’ve truly found;

Their breasts and hearts are filled with love’s inspiring sound. 70

Death, that dread thing of which all mankind stand in fear,

Is laughed and mocked at by the saints, when it draws near.

No man has power to dominate their tranquil minds.

The shell may injured be; the pearl harm never finds.

The rhetor’s art, the jurist’s skill, they set at naught;

But poverty, abasement, to themselves they’ve taught.

The scenes of all eight paradises[375] are consumed

In that full blaze with which their holy heart’s illumed.

They’re more exalted than the heavens and what’s beyond;

Their place is in the court of love divine, all-fond. 75

XV.

Zeyd’s Inspiration.

The Prophet asked one morn of Zeyd, in tender tone,[376]

“How art thou, dear disciple, faithful to the bone?”

“I’m pious;--a believer,” Zeyd replied; and he

Inquired again: “What proof of faith resides in thee?”

He said: “Whole days I’ve burnt with parching fever’s thirst;

By night I’ve watched; with love’s sweet pangs my heart’s nigh burst.

Thus have I traversed days’ and nights’ enduring space,

As point of spear through shield makes way in war’s embrace.

For, in love’s view, the church of faith one body is;

Ten million years, one instant, are alike, when His. 5

The past eternity and future join in one;

Though reason cannot compass how the marvel’s done.”

The Prophet then: “Bring forth some souvenir from thence,

Shall satisfy all men of judgment and of sense.”

Said Zeyd: “As men behold the sky above their heads,

So I survey the heavens, and all their flowery meads.

Eight paradises,[377] seven deep hells,[378] are in my view,

As patent as the idol to its silly crew.

Apart, and one by one, I can discern all men,

As wheat and barley well are known to miller’s ken. 10

I see who’s heavenward bound, who takes the other road;

As men distinguish fish from snake in walks abroad.”

’Tis thus that saints, within the bounds of present life,

See who’ll be blessed, who cursed, when tried in judgment’s strife;

Before each soul contracts the sins will cause its shame;

While yet in mother’s womb,--while yet without a name.

The wretch is he conceived for wretchedness’ sad thirst.

Each soul is marked for future bliss or woe, at first.[379]

The body, as a mother, bears within a soul.

Death’s but the throes that launch the spirit to its goal. 15

Departed souls are all agog at each fresh birth,

To see what class the new-born enters in its mirth.

The blacks presume ’twill prove to be of their dark gang;

The pale-faced Romans hope they’ll profit by the pang.

But when the little stranger shows itself at last,

No room remains for doubt; the question’s judged and cast.

The new-born black is borne in triumph by its kind;

The rosy-cheeked fair bantling’s claimed by Roman mind.

Until its birth the child’s a riddle to all men.

Who knows an unborn infant’s rare sage in this glen. 20

Unless, mayhap, he see with light divine’s blest aid;

For this can penetrate through densest shell e’er made.

The life-conveying fluid’s colourless and clear;

But living men their various shades of colour bear.

The soul sustains complexions in our mortal frames,

Until our halves material find rest from their games.

But turn we now away to other subjects, high;

For fear events should leave us to regret and sigh.

“When settling-day ‘brings forth the colour of each face,’[380]

Mankind are separated sharply, race from race. 25

Within the womb nor Turk, nor Hindū, yet is seen;[381]

So soon as born, all, high and low, know what to ween.

As in the day of judgment all men all will know,

So now to me each man and woman forms a show.

Say: Shall I all declare; or shall I hold my peace?”

To this the Prophet in reply made motion: “Cease.”

“Ha! Prophet of the Lord! I’ll tell that secret, all!

To men I will declare the deeds of that dread hall!

Permit me to tear off the veil that hides it now;

My heart shall light the world as sun in midday glow. 30

I will eclipse that lamp, by giving out more light.

I will set plainly forth the thorn and fig-tree right.

Th’ events of judgment day I’ll lay before all men.

I’ll separate the gold from spurious coin, as then.

They of the left hand shall be maimed to public view,[382]

And all shall then the fruits of misbelief eschew.

I will expose the seven pits of wrath divine,[383]

By aid of light from truth’s great luminary’s shine.

I’ll rend away the rags that veil the wicked’s shame.

I’ll sound the trump, that all may hear the Prophet’s name. 35

Hell, heaven, the gulf between, I’ll set before men’s eyes,

That misbelievers may be warned of error’s dyes.

The fountain of ‘Kawthar’ shall throw its highest jet;[384]

Its rush shall greet their ears, its spray their faces wet.

They who will flock around it, burning with fierce thirst,

I’ll make apparent unto all, from last to first.

Their shoulders jostle ’gainst my shoulders in the crowd;

Their shrieks are sounding in my ears, as thunder loud.

While heaven’s citizens, rejoicing with delight,

Hug one another lovingly, to glad my sight. 40

They visit one another’s thrones, high rapture’s seats;

They kiss each other fondly; each all others greets.

My ears grow deaf through listening to those cries of grief,

And sorrow’s anguish from the lips where sin sat chief.

These are slight indications; much more could I say;

I pause; the Prophet’s wearied; cease from speech I may.”

Thus spake the Prophet’s servant, in delirious guise.

The Prophet shook his collar,--sign of deep surprise.

Then spake: “Rein in thy steed! He risks to run away!

Reflected Truth declares: ‘God blushes not.’[385] Heyday! 45

The mirror’s fallen out from its protecting case!

A mirror and a balance never truth debase!

A mirror and a balance never facts conceal,

Although some one be hurt by what they do reveal!

The mirror and the balance tests are of my rule;

Though for a thousand years thou serve it’s strict formule.

Hide not the truth from thought of deep respect for me.

Show forth the whole, in full. Deficiency mayn’t be.

What is’t that tells thee: ‘Play not, joke not with the truth?’[386]

The mirror, balance, God,--who smites falsehood with truth! 50

Sure, God hath raised me up for that one sole intent,

That through me truth be preached unto its full extent.

Were this not so, what value’s in me, valued friend?

Did I become instructor, only good to mend?

But shut thy mirror tight within its felten sack,

If Sion’s miracle’s repeated in thy track.”

Said Zeyd: “Can man e’er grasp beneath his feeble arm

The sun of truth, eternal luminary, warm?

’Twould burst his grasp asunder; all his wiles were vain,

Though madness he should add to reason in his brain!” 55

Replied the Prophet: “On thy eye thy finger place;

The world is straight deprived of all the sun’s bright face!

A finger-tip suffices to blot out the moon;

A symbol, this, of God’s great sin-effacing boon.

A point can cover up a whole world with its shade;

The sun can be eclipsed by what’s a mere monade.

Shut close thy lips. Consider now the mighty sea.

By God’s command the ocean man’s meek slave must be.[387]

Ev’n as the fountains Selsabīl and Zenjabīl[388]

Are given for use of angels, Michael, Isrāfīl.[389] 60

The rivers four of paradise are at our beck;

Not by our merit, but by God’s constraining check.

Where’er we will, they flow, obedient to our call;

Like magical effect, magician’s docile thrall.

So also are our eyes, those founts of sentient beams,

Subservient to our will, whichever way it streams.

As we direct, they look; see what’s like adder’s sting;

Or notice facts that to our minds their warnings bring.

If so we will, they scrutinise objectiveness;

As we desire, they lend themselves to study dress. 65

By our direction, universals are their bound;

If so we wish, they prisoners are in partials’ ground.

Each of the senses five acts thus but as a spout,

To bring unto the mind that which it cares about.

Whichever way the heart directs them forth to stroll,

They turn, and glean a harvest for its pleasure sole.

The hands and feet are servants to the heart’s request,

As Moses’ rod obedient was to his behest.

At heart’s desire, the feet begin the nimble dance,

Or seek advantage, or avoid some sore mischance. 70

The heart commands, the hands to calculations fall;

Should it prefer, they write a book or treatise small.

A hand there is, ’twould seem, within these hands of ours;

A hidden hand, that moves the body’s wondrous powers.

If that incites, this wages battle with the foe;

Should that induce, this aids a friend to stand tiptoe.

It pushes; straightway spoon’s plunged into soup;

It wills; a ponderous club forthwith attacks some group.

What is it that the heart says to them all by turns?

Most wonderful accord! Most marvellous alterns! 75

The ancient seal of Solomon the heart has found!

With that alone it guides the senses o’er their ground.

Externally, five senses serve its high command;

Internally, five faculties obey its hand.

Ten senses, thus, seven organs, wait upon its wants;

Besides a host of minor servants, confidants.

As Solomon thou sittest, O heart! Thou reignest supreme!

On fairy and on demon, set thy seal, thy scheme.

In this thy realm be upright; practise thou no fraud;

No demon, then, shall rob thee of thy seal, thy gaud.[390] 80

The world shall learn thy name, shall practise all thy rites;

Time and eternity remain thy perquisites.

But should a demon carry off thy seal, perchance,

Thy reign is o’er; thy fortune loses all advance.

Thenceforward vain regret shall canker in thy breast,

Until the day thou’rt called to thy account at last.

Unless thy heart renounce all selfish use of wit,

By mirror and by balance canst thou be held quit?”

Luqmān the sage, in presence of his noble lord,[391]

Among the slaves and servants was a mere byword. 85

The lord one day commanded; straight some slaves were sent

To gather fruit from orchard for his throat’s content.

With them did Luqmān go, as parasite to feast,

Brimful of wisdom, black as night, a negro beast.

Their labour o’er, the slaves lay down to rest awhile;

The fruit they tasted, tasted still, consumed the pile.

Returning home, on Luqmān the whole blame they laid;

His lord was angered mightily at what they said.

Luqmān inquired the cause of this estrangement keen.

The lord gave vent in loud abuse to his roused spleen. 90

Said Luqmān: “Lord, I swear by God’s most holy name,

Dishonest servant ne’er can hope for aught but blame.

Make proof of us. ’Tis easy. Lord thou art of all.

Command. We’ll drink our fill of water hot as gall.

Then make us run about within the meadow’s bound.

On horseback thou, on foot we, ’ll all trudge quickly round.

Thou soon shalt witness sights to show ‘the milk who spilt.’

Hearts’ secrets’ Great Revealer will disclose the guilt.”

Their lord so ordered. Scalding water soon was sought.

Each had to drink his fill, as hot as could be brought. 95

Then all were made to run as fast as they could tear,

All up and down the meadow, as their legs could bear.

Now lo! What happens? Sickness on them, each, soon falls;

To vomit they’re constrained, with starting of eyeballs.

The stolen fruit contained within their stomach’s sack,

The water’s stimulus compelled them to give back.

When Luqmān’s turn was come to cast up his accounts,

Clear water was the only issue from his founts.

Luqmān’s philosophy this trial could evolve;

God’s wisdom far abstruser riddles will resolve. 100

“The day when our hearts’ secrets shall be all revealed,”

Man’s secret foe in ambush shall not lie concealed.

Hell’s victims, then, shall taste of scalding water’s pang;

And all veils be torn off from sins they overhang.

Hell-fire’s decreed to be the lot of misbelief;

Since fire the ordeal is by which stones come to grief.

How often have we spoken to those hearts of stone,

In softest accents of advice! They would hear none!

To foulest ulcer, sharpest remedy’s applied.

The teeth of dogs alone are fit for ass’s hide. 105

“Filth to the filthy” is philosophy right sound.

“Birds of a feather flock together” goes its round.

What mates soever for thyself thou choose at last,

Their habits and their qualities acquire thou fast.

Wouldst glory have? To glory must thou raise pretence.

Wouldst it reject? Think well; and take thy road from thence.

Wouldst find a way out of this dismal dungeon vile?

Submit to God; bow down in worship with a smile.

Again we’ll turn. Again we’ll hear what Zeyd may say;

What road he’ll follow, on his steed, in reason’s way. 110

When reason sets itself t’ expose the faults of men,

It pulls aside the veils that hide them from our ken.

God sometimes wills that actions should concealed remain,

Drives reason’s drum away, forbids its noisy strain.

Loose not thy tongue alone; it bridle; hidden’s best.

Let each be happy in his own opinion’s zest.

God wills that they who might despair to win His grace,

Shall persevere, not slacken, in their worship’s pace

That they may seek a hopeful one, and him ensue;—

In his society may follow worship’s clue. 115

God wishes that His peace should light upon us all;

That His salvation should embrace good, bad, great, small.

That princes and that captives all should turn their face,

In hope and fear, up heavenward, looking for His grace.

That hope and fear are nourished by a curtain’s shade.

’Tis through uncertainty that hope and fear invade.

But tear away that veil; where then are hope and fear?

’Tis veiledness lends interest to landscapes drear.

Upon a river’s bank a youth, who chanced to spy

A fisherman at work, guessed: “Solomon, surely![392] 120

If he it be, why here, in secret and alone?

If not, whence come those features, fit to grace a throne?”

So he remained in doubt, ’twixt two opinions tossed,

Till Solomon recovered all the power he’d lost.

The foul usurping demon fled the royal state;

The king’s avenging sword pursued and sealed his fate.

The signet-ring of power once more on royal hand,

The demons and the fairies flocked to his command.

Mankind came crowding to his court, by levee swelled;

Among them came the youth who’d that opinion held. 125

He saw the signet-ring. This sufficed. Doubt was past.

No room was left for surmise. All was clear at last.

Opinion may be formed of what’s behind a veil.

Conjecture lends its aid where knowledge ’gins to fail.

Conjecture’s potent when the subject’s hid from view.

Let it be visible; no surmise can we brew.

Although the sky of light is not without its rain,

The earth of darkness, too, produces plants and grain.

I love that text: “They who believe what is not seen.”[393]

Thence have I closed my eyes, the body’s windows keen. 130

But should I cleave the firmament with my swift glance,

Could I exclaim: “Perceivest thou a flaw, perchance?”[394]

To scrutinise what’s hid behind the darkness’ screen,

Each man his method chooses; guesses what’s between.

A certain space of time confusion reigns supreme.

The robbers hang the magistrates by their own scheme,

Until at length a chief, blessed with a genius rare,

Springs up to serve his servants; all their troubles share.[395]

To render secret service is a thing beloved.

To hide a service rendered adds to what’s approved. 135

What’s he, commends his king with lies before his face,

And in his absence needs lament his lack of grace?