Mankind the songs of fairies never hear at all, They are not versed in fairies’ ways, their voices small. ’Tis true, the chants of fairies’ sounds are of this world;[246] But songs sung by men’s hearts are far above them hurled. 10 Both men and fairies pris’ners are in earthly cage. Both, too, are thralls of sinful ignorance’s rage. Read thou the text: “O fairy troop,” in book of God.[247] Consider, too: “Can ye pass out?” Who holds the rod? The inward hymn that’s sung by all the hearts of saints Commences: “O component parts of that thing NOT.”[248] Now since they take their rise in this NOT, negative, They put aside the hollow phantom where we live. Ye putrid corpses, wrapt in rank corruption’s cloth, Our everlasting souls are free from birth and growth. 15 Were I but to recite one stave from their blest song, All living souls would rise out from their tombs among. Lend ear attentively; that may not distant be; As yet, however, leave’s not given to tell it thee. The saints are Isrāfīls of this our passing time. The spiritually dead through them live life sublime. Our souls mere corpses are; their graves, our bodies’ crowds. At voice of saint do they arise, clothed in their shrouds. They say: “This voice has in it something to be feared. To raise the dead, God’s voice alone has power, we’ve heard. 20 We were all dead, and unto earth had we returned. The voice of God we’ve heard; our prisons we have spurned.” The voice of God without, also within the vail, Can give the gift to all, it gave to Mary: “Hail!” O ye whose death was not that which attacks the flesh, At sound of the Beloved’s voice ye’ve risen afresh. That voice the Bridegroom’s voice most truly was, ’tis said, Although ’twas from the lips of His servant, Ahmed. God said to him: “Thy tongue, thy eye, thy ear, I am; All thy contentment, anger, thoughts, ’tis I undam. 25 Go on; ‘By Me he hears, by Me he sees;’ that’s thee; Thou art the head; thou holdest the place of Head’s trustee. In ecstasy, since thou art ‘He the Lord’s who is,’[249] I will be thine; for see, ’tis said: ‘The Lord is his.’ Now will I say to thee: ‘Thou art;’ and now; ‘I am.’ What I may say’s as clear as is the sun in heaven. Wherever I may shine an instant in a lamp, A world of doubts I solve; on all My seal I stamp. The darkness which the sun could never yet illume, By magic of My breath grows bright as peacock’s plume. 30 Wherever gloom may reign as undisturbed night, When shone upon by Me, like noonday’s forthwith bright.”