His grief and mourning Zeyd renewed alway, From bitter wailing ceased he not, he wept aye. That faithful, loving, ever-constant friend dear. One night, when was the rise of the True Dawn near, Feeling that in his wasted frame no strength stayed, Had gone, and down upon that grave himself laid. There, in his sleep, he saw a wondrous fair sight, A lovely garden, and two beauties, moon-bright; Through transport rapturous, their cheeks with light glow; Far distant now, all fear of anguish, pain, woe; With happiness and ecstasy and joy blest, From rivals' persecutions these have found rest; A thousand angel-forms to each fair beauty, With single heart, perform the servant's duty. He, wondering, question made: "What Moons so bright these? What lofty, honored Sovereigns of might these? What garden, most exalted, is this parterre? What throng so bright and beautiful, the throng there?" They answer gave: "Lo! Eden's shining bowers these; That radiant throng, the Heaven-born Youths and Houris; These two resplendent forms, bright as the fair moon, These are the ever-faithful—Leyli, Mejnun! Since pure within the vale of love they sojourned, And kept that purity till they to dust turned, Are Eden's everlasting bowers their home now, To them the Houris and the Youths as slaves bow: Since these, while on the earth, all woe resigned met, And patience aye before them in each grief set, When forth they fled from this false, faithless world's bound, From all those pangs and sorrows they release found!" POEMS OF NABI MUKHAMMES Alas! nor dew nor smiling rose within this mead is mine; Within this market-place nor trade nor coin for need is mine; Nor more nor less; nor power nor strength for act or deed is mine; Nor might nor eminence; nor balm the cure to speed is mine. Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine! Being's the bounty of the Lord; and Life, the gift Divine; The Breath, the present of his love; and Speech his Grace's sign; The Body is the pile of God; the Soul, his Breath benign; The Powers thereof, his Glory's trust; the Senses, his design. Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine! No work, no business of my own within this mart have I; All Being is of him alone—no life apart have I; No choice of entering this world, or hence of start have I; To cry, "I am! I am!" in truth, no power of heart have I. Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine! The Earth the carpet is of Power; the Sphere, the tent of Might; The Stars, both fixed and wandering, are Glory's lamps of light; The World's the issue of the grace of Mercy's treasures bright; With forms of beings is the page of Wisdom's volume dight. Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!