Th’ All-Bountiful, who gave to senseless earth, of grace, This faithfulness, trustworthiness, in every place, 200 In mercy plans forth inorganic matter’s course. In wrathful wisdom’s counsel blinds man to its source. Our hearts and souls have not the grace to understand. To whom address me? Not one ear’s at my command! Who lends his ear, shall also quickly find an eye. Whose ear’s, like stone, to counsel deaf, shall surely die. Of wond’rous power is God possessed. What’s magic’s skill! Miraculous works He enacts. Where’s witchery’s spell! To sing His praise in me a want of feeling shows. It proves I breathe. To breathe, to live, breaks true love’s laws. 205 In His existence let my being sink, quite lost. To be, is to be blind and blear-eyed at the most. If blind I were not, swooned, unconscious should I be. The Sun of Glory’s might and power then could I see. Were not my sight grown blear, through weeping in my dreams, Had I stood, ice-like, frozen, ’neath His mercy’s beams? Just like his king, this Vazīr was shortsighted seen. The Ancient, ’twas, of Days, he wrestled ’gainst, I ween. Th’ Almighty One, who with one breath, one word, did bring Ten thousand worlds from naught to join in being’s ring. 210 Ten thousand worlds, besides, disclose themselves to sight, If thou direct thy vision towards the God of Light. In man’s esteem the world is vast, without an end; With Power Infinite compared, a grain of sand. The world’s around the soul a dismal prison-den. Arise! Escape! Regain the fields at large! Be men! The world is finite; He is infinite. Confide! Earth’s forms and qualities God’s essence from us hide. The million spears of Pharaoh, vaunting in his might, By Moses’ wand were broken in th’ appointed night. 215 And many sons of skill, for healing science famed, By Jesu’s curing halt, lame, blind, deaf, mad, were shamed. How many poets, orators, great men of note, By word of the Illiterate One[104] were shown to dote. For love of our Almighty God, the Lord of all, Who would not die, a stock, a block, we needs must call. Dead heart of stone if He but touch with love’s live coal, A magnet straight becomes, no longer quits the pole.[105] Plume not thyself as one endowed with cunning guile; The meek more surely draw rich gifts from Heaven’s smile. 220 How many treasure-hiders, treasure-seekers, here, Have been derided, laughed to scorn, by that All-Seer! What art thou, man? Canst thou in thought with Him compare? What’s the whole earth? A blade of grass, His might to dare?