Now turn again to ‘Alī and his destined foe. His great forbearance contemplate; this wretch’s woe. He made remark: “My murderer’s before my eyes, All day and night. No anger towards him in me lies. Death is to me as sweet as life;--as my own self; My death and resurrection, two sides of one shelf. A deathless death’s a welcome change to loving heart; A lifeless life has been its present counterpart.” Death to appearance, life is,--in the main; Externally a loss;--intrinsically, gain. 210 Within its mother’s womb a child’s lot is to roam. It has to blossom in the world, as ocean’s foam. I have a wish, a longing, towards the world of doom; But God forbids: “Cast not your lives away,” in gloom.[425] All prohibition’s but a bar from what is loved; No prohibition’s needed from a thing reproved. A grain with bitter kernel, still more bitter rind, Full prohibition carries in itself, we find. The fruit of death is savoury, in my esteem. Nay more. “The slain do live” a blessed text must seem.[426] 215 Then slay me, O my trusty friends, without reproach. My death is life eternal. Let it, then, approach. In death I’ll find my love. My dearest friends, adieu! How long shall I be barred from darling interview? Unless our separation be from one we mourn, Why should we say: “Forsooth, to Him we shall return?”[427] ’Tis only he returns, who comes back to his home. Our true return’s from severance to union’s dome. That servant once again appealed and begged: “‘Alī! Put me to death, that sin so heinous I may flee! 220 My life’s at thy behest; forthwith pour out my blood! So shall my soul escape the burden of crime’s brood.” Then ‘Alī answered: “Should each sun-mote take a knife, Or sword draw, with design to sacrifice thy life, One single hair’s-breadth could they not, yet, take effect, Since Providence decrees ’tis thou must work that act. But sorrow not! Thy intercessor I will be! Lord of my soul am I;--not slave to fleshly fee. My body frail no value has now in my sight; From flesh when liberated shall my soul feel light. 225 The dagger and the sword may take root in my limbs. Death’s but a banquet; wounds, a flower that graceful climbs.”[428] Now, who can thus despise his body in his heart, And yet feel greed for empire, or for pontiffs part? He strove, ’tis evident, upon the judgment seat, To set a good example to all future great; To breathe a righteous spirit into monarchs’ breasts; Make sure that goodly fruit come from their deeds and gests.