About that time the Lord on ‘Umer slumber sent. He could not keep awake; beneath sleep’s burden bent. 205 With wonder thought he ’twas unprecedented: “See! This sleep’s divinely ordered; purpose there must be.” His head he bowed; sleep bound him fast; a dream he saw, A voice from God he heard,--for him a sacred law. God’s voice the real source is of every cry and sound; The only voice, in fact; all other’s echo found. Turks, Kurds, and Persians, Arabs, all have understood That voice most wonderful,--of lip and ear no mood. What say I? No! Not merely Turks and Persians all, The very rocks and trees have answered to that call. 210 Each moment’s clearly heard: “Am I not, then, your Lord?”[277] Ideas and essences became “things” at His word. Had they not answered: “Yes, Thou art our God, O Lord,” From out of nothing straight that answer ’d come, in word! About what’s here been said respecting stocks and stones, Let’s hear what tell tradition’s most veracious tones. We’ll find related there how various rocks and trees, Both understood and spoke, as human being sees. A post in his own house, at Mustafà’s retreat, Sent forth a sob of grief, like heart in sorrow’s heat, 215 As he his sermon preached, surrounded by his flock, So that the moan was heard by old and young; no mock. Disciples one and all were petrified, perplexed, And marvelled what might make its wooden heart so vexed. The Prophet put the question: “What may be thy need?” The column answered: “Prophet, grief my heart makes bleed.[278] Against me, in thy sermon, thou’st been used to lean; A pulpit now thou’st mounted; far from me thou’rt seen.” The Prophet said: “Thou most affectionate of posts! Good fortune thee attend, sent by the Lord of Hosts! 220 If thou so wish, thou mayst become a fruitful palm; And men from east and west sing of thy dates in psalm. Or God may thee transplant to realms of paradise; Where as a cedar thou eternally mayst rise.” It answered: “I elect what ne’er will know decay.” Lend ear, O heedless man! Hast thou less sense than they? That post was forthwith buried, like a corpse of clay, In hopes of resurrection at the judgment day. Thou hence mayst learn that any whom the Lord doth call, Breaks straightway with the things of this our earthly ball. 225 Whoe’er receives a mission from the Lord his God, Forsakes the world, himself prepares the path to plod. Who’s not received the gift of knowledge from above, Will ne’er believe a stock could sigh and moan for love. He may pretend to acquiesce; not from belief; He says: “’Tis so,” to ’scape a name much worse than thief. All they who’re not convinced that God’s “Be” is enough, Will turn away their face; this tale they’ll treat as “stuff.”