The Pilgrims hail the Kaaba's sacred Ground, When they at last the holy Fane have found. They see a House of Stone, sublime, revered, All girt by steep and barren Cliffs around. They march'd in Hope expecting God to see; For this they toiled, and still their Prayers abound. But when all fervent they the Threshold tread, They hear a voice from out the Temple sound: 'Why pray ye thus, O Fools, to Clay and Stone? Revere the House for which the Pure are bound. The Heart's own House, Shrine of the True, the One: O blest are they whose Striving there is crown'd! Blest those who tread no Desert's weary Way, But rest at Home in peace, like SHEMS renown'd.'[28] [28] Rosen, whom I have followed in the last two lines, calls this 'an incomparable Gazel.' Shems-ud-Din (The Sun of Religion) was Jeláleddín's celebrated Teacher and revered Master, whose name he introduced into his Gazels instead of his own, whence his Divan became entitled the 'Divan of Shems of Tabriz.' Rückert, however, substitutes Jeláleddín's own name, in accordance with Western usage and fact. Many Faiths, One Lord XXXV. Our House has many Doors indeed, But all to One Lord inward lead. And all who reach this Lord must pray, With Forehead on the Ground, and plead. And many in the House born blind, The Lord's commands yet hear and heed. The Lame there too can Service give, They all perform House Tasks at need. Yea, even the Wind with panting Breath, Comes in, the Hearth's low Fire to feed. Each one must do his Part as bid, No one can choose his Share or Deed. Yet many deem them free, nor know The Bond that binds them firm decreed. But if thou humbly bear thy Bond, It holds a Crown of Flowers in Seed. Plight Troth, and Grace will answer Sure, For Love's Vow seals the highest Creed. Servant! To Fellow-servants shew The lowly Mien no Hate will breed. Forbearing be! Thy Over-Lord No Pleasure hath in Pride or Greed. Can one e'er claim to enter bold Who Entrance never would concede? Who dares to haggle with the Master, He drives them from His Doors with Speed. Love Absolute XXXVI. Love lies not in Book, or Letter, or well reason'd Tome—O no! Love lives not in Cell of Penance, nor in gloomy Home—O no! From the Green of Spring eternal shoots up the Tree of Life; Yet Milkyway and Pleiad reach not Love's Dome—O no! Reason dismounts before her, Desire her Charioteer; So long the Way no slower to Love's Realm would come—O no! While thou art still a Lover, the Longing in thee moves; But when thou art the Loved One, thou need'st not roam—O no! Wrecked Landsmen shriek in Terror, though saving spars float round; The Pilot steeped in rapture, recks not Death's Foam—O no! JELÁLEDDÍN, thy soul in Ocean melts in joy: Thyself all Consecration, no Novice far from Home—O no! Renunciation XXXVII.