Woe to him that accepts bounty from another’s table And lets his neck be bent with benefits! He hath consumed himself with the lightning of the favours bestowed on him, He hath sold his honour for a paltry coin. 470 Happy the man who thirsting in the sun Does not crave of Khizr a cup of water![50] His brow is not moist with the shame of beggary; He is a man still, not a piece of clay. That noble youth walks under heaven 475 With his head erect like the pine. Are his hands empty? The more is he master of himself. Do his fortunes languish? The more alert is he. The beggar’s wallet is like a boat tossing in waves of fire; Sweet is a little dew gathered by one’s own hand. 480 Be a man of honour, and like the bubble Keep thy cup inverted even in the midst of the sea![51] FOOTNOTES: [49] The Caliph Omar was a man of simple habits and self-reliant character. [50] Khizr is supposed to have drunk of the Fountain of Life. [51] The bubble is compared to an inverted cup, which of course receives nothing. V _Showing that when the Self is strengthened by Love it gains dominion over the outward and inward forces of the universe._ When the Self is made strong by Love Its power rules the whole world. The Heavenly Sage who adorned the sky with stars 485 Plucked these buds from the bough of the Self. Its hand becomes God’s hand, The moon is split by its fingers. It is the arbitrator in all the quarrels of the world, Its command is obeyed by Darius and Jamshíd. 490 I will tell thee a story of Bú Ali,[52] Whose name is renowned in India, Him who sang of the ancient rose-garden And discoursed to us about the lovely rose: The air of his fluttering skirt 495 Made a Paradise of this fire-born country. His young disciple went one day to the bazaar-- The wine of Bú Ali’s discourse had turned his head. The governor of the city was coming along on horseback, His servant and staff-bearer rode beside him. 500 The forerunner shouted, “O senseless one, Do not get in the way of the governor’s escort!” But the dervish walked on with drooping head, Sunk in the sea of his own thoughts. The staff-bearer, drunken with pride, 505 Broke his staff on the head of the dervish, Who stepped painfully out of the governor’s way, Sad and sorry, with a heavy heart. He came to Bú Ali and complained And released the tears from his eyes. 510 Like lightning that falls on mountains, The Sheikh poured forth a fiery torrent of speech. He let loose from his soul a strange fire, He gave an order to his secretary: “Take thy pen and write a letter 515 From a dervish to a sultan! Say, ‘Thy governor has broken my servant’s head;