We see the trees here shed their leaves at God’s command. Without their toil or trouble, other leaves He’ll send. 345 Shouldst thou, dispensing much, one day be found in want, The Lord will not forsake thee; His supply’s not scant. Whoever sows, must empty storehouses of grain; His fields will yield him richly tenfold heaps of gain. But he who’s left his corn in garners, to be used, Mules, horses, mice, and accidents have it reduced. This world’s a negative; the positive seek thou. All outward forms are cyphers; search, the sense to know. Lay down thy wretched life before th’ uplifted sword; New life thou’lt purchase, never-ending, of the Lord. 350 But if thou do not know, well, how to quit this scene, To me, then, lend thy ear; this tale for thee I mean. In days of old there was a Caliph, as is said, Whose generosity Hātim Tāyī ’d dismayed.[282] His fame for liberality went through the land; All poverty, all want, relieved was at his hand. The very sea went dry through his dispensing zest; And rumours of his benefits spread east and west. A fruitful cloud of rain was he to this our race; In turn, the object he of God’s surpassing grace. 355 So large his gifts, that seas and mines were out of date. Still fame brought caravans of suitors to his gate, His courts and halls the temples of the indigent. The noise had gone abroad how largely he had spent. The Persian, Roman, Turk, and Arab, all were there, And all admired his liberalities so rare. A Fount of Life was he, a very sea of gift. All nations profited,--in praise their voice did lift. 359 IX. The Poor Scenite Arab and his Wife.