Chapter XVI: Preface (2)

In surface silver’s white and glittering to the eye;
With friction, hands and purse it soils, though e’er so dry.
A fire is jocund to the view; its flame may please.
But venture not too near it; black is its surcease.
The lightning flashes brightly, shining as it flies;
But oft, alas, it strikes man blind, or dead he lies.
Be wise betimes; for “he that’s void of common sense,
Is like the ox with yoke on neck.” So ‘Alī,--Hence!

For six years was the Vazīr absent from the king;
Disciple seemed of Jesu’s faith; bad news to bring. 140
Their hearts and faith the people all pinned on to him;
At his command they every one would change each whim.
His purpose all the time was fraud and gross deceit;
He pondered naught but wiles, to compass their defeat.
By secret message, with the king he held converse.
The king to him fair gratulations sent, diverse.

A missive came to him at length: “My faithful son,
’Tis time my heart was set at rest. What hast thou done?”
His answer was: “The thing’s prepared; have patience yet;
The Christian folk to puzzle soon, we’ll not forget.” 145

The Christians portioned were, for purposes of war,
In legions twelve; to each, a captain void of fear.
The men of every legion to their captain bound
By ties of trust and confidence, in each heart found.
These legions and those captains twelve, to that bad man
Had yielded up their every thought;--as mankind can.
Should he command to die, not one of them would fail
To give his life right joyfully,--without one wail.

A volume he prepared in name of each of them;
The matter of these registers not all the same. 150
The style of every one was in a different guise;
From end to end each book’s contents were forgeries.
In one, the pangs of hunger mortified the flesh;
With penitence, with fasting made, and prayer, to clash.
A second taught that fasting did no good at all;
That charity, beneficence, was all in all.
A third explained: “Thy fasting,--charity itself,—
Syntheism[102] is. With God, thou deifiest thyself.
To trust with resignation’s all religion’s plan.
In weal and woe are springs to trap the soul of man.” 155
A fourth declared: “Faith without works is truly dead.
Alone is service valued; faith’s a sin to dread.”
A fifth laid down: “The Law’s commands and warnings all
Are not for practice; they’re mere symbols of man’s fall.
By showing us man’s weakness, God is made more strong;
The decalogue this purpose serves; the rest’s all wrong.”
The sixth, again: “For man to talk of weakness here,
Ingratitude is, simply; God’s grace is so clear;
Think, now, how wonderful is man; how great; how wise;
’Tis God has made him thus; to thank Him in us lies.” 160
A seventh suggests: “Leave power and weakness unto Me;
They’re idols, both, as also are all things ye see.”
An eighth contends: “Put not thy light behind a shade.
Let all men see thy light; to glad their eyes ’twas made.
Removed from sight if ’tis, an evil thence will loom.
Thou, too, wilt be removed at midnight from the groom.”
A ninth expounds: “Put out the light; thou’lt have more joy.
The sense of sight is one: joy’s feelings, many; boy.
Put out the light. The sense of touch thou may’st then use.
The bride is timid; in the dark she’ll not refuse. 165
Renunciation of the world’s a very farce.
Renounce. The world, and more, thou’lt dream of in thy trance.”
A tenth assures: “That which the Lord hath given to man,
God hath made pleasant to the eyes. Deny, who can.
Take what is thine. Avert thee not; ’tis folly still
To take to groaning, moaning, when all’s at thy will.”
Another yet: “Forsake all things thou hast possessed.
Retention of them by thee baseness is, confessed.
How many roads diverse traced for their feet men deem;
Each one to one sole “church” the only road doth seem. 170
If way there were secure, for hitting out the truth,
The Jews and Magi surely ’d not missed it, forsooth.”
Again another: “Moral food makes heart to live.
We see this clearly; every hour a proof doth give.
Enjoyments sensuous, fleshly, when to fade they haste,
Leave no result behind; they’re desert mirage, waste.
Regret’s their only issue, grief for loss of time;
A bankrupt’s stock; their commerce gives no gain, no prime.
Pursuit of them has never ended in success;
Dire failure still must be the fruit of recklessness. 175
Distinguish thou betimes the foolish from the wise;
The end of each scan well; ’tis there the difference lies.”
And still one more: “True wisdom strive thou to find out.
True wisdom’s not the fruit of noble birth. Poor lout!
Each ‘church’ has had in view to gain a happy end.
But one and all have failed and could but fail. God send!
To palm off jugglers’ tricks is not true wisdom’s part,
Or man had never seen so many faiths take start.”
And one again: “True wisdom thou hast surely found.
Thou knowest men of wisdom;--wisdom’s safest ground. 180
Be manful. Let not men by fraud make mock of thee.
Thy own path choose; turn not from it for aught thou see.”
To one he said: “Thy unity is all in all;
Besides thee, aught existence never had, nor shall.”
One volume taught: “The universe is unity.
Who teaches two exist, is but a squint-eye, he.”
The last gave out: “A hundred really are but one.”
Unless a madman, whom could have such doctrines won?

In them these paradoxes fitly found their place,
In words and sense his doctrines lacked all claim to grace. 185
Each volume was the antithesis of the next;
If one was honey, poison was the other’s text.
Wouldst thou escape his honey and his poison too,
Forsake thou not the holy word of scripture true.

Twelve volumes thus were writ with fraudulent research,
By that Vazīr, the hidden foe of Jesu’s church.
Jesu’s one-mindedness for him had no perfume;
The wine of Jesu’s jar no _bouquet_ to his grume.
A many-coloured garment washed in that pure wine,
As snowy white comes out, and clear as is sunshine. 190
Not faded or plain-coloured, such as gives offence;
But clear as crystal water, in which fishes glance.
Dry land, chameleon-like, gay-coloured scenes displays;
But fishes dry land shun; they love clear water’s sprays.

What is the fish, and what the water, in my tale,
That they should symbolise God’s kingdom on small scale?
Whole shoals of fishes, great and small, the water’s realm,
In adoration mute, with praise to God o’erwhelm.

What showers of bounty from God’s outstretched hand
Have made the seas with pearls of price to deck the strand! 195
What brilliant suns of brightest goodness must have shone,
Ere clouds and sea could have produced the matchless stone![103]
What rays of wisdom poured on water and on land
Ere earth could nourish seed, yield corn to our demand!
The earth, a faithful trustee, gives back what we sow,
No fraud, embezzlement, in its trust do we know.
This faithfulness to trust arises, with time’s run,
From generous warmth infused by glow of justice’ sun.
Whene’er God’s symbol quickening summer back doth bring,
The mysteries of the earth straight from her bosom spring.

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?

A woman, once, through foul adultery’s sin estranged,
By God, in punishment, to Venus’ star was changed.[106]
From woman into Venus? Sure, that change was sad.
To dust and ashes turn. Less shame in this. Art mad?
Thy soul it is must lift thee to heaven’s highest home;
The flesh can but consign thee deep to hell’s dark dome. 225
Thyself it is that dooms thee to that woful fate;
The angels’ envy art thou, here, in man’s estate.
Consider, then, this doom; revolve it in thy mind;
That woman’s change, compared with this, was joy, thou’lt find.

To push ambition’s course beyond the stars thou’st sought?
Refused hast thou first Adam to adore, as naught?[107]
But seed of Adam art thou, O degenerate man!
Why wilt thou then as glory count dark shame’s foul ban?
Why proudly vaunt thou’lt conquer all this teeming earth?
Why fondly fancy rumor ’ll sound thy passing worth? 230

Should winter’s snow in heaps encumber all earth’s soil,
One gleam of summer’s sun the frigid cloak will foil.
So, too, that Vazīr’s scheme of fraud, nor his alone,
Reduced to nothing was by one word from God’s throne.

Such crafty wiles as these He changes into weal;
As poisons by His power receive the gift to heal.
What doubtful was, becomes confest, at His decree;
True love springs up, where hatred plotted was to be.
He safely carries through the fire His chosen friend;[108]
The fear of death He maketh peace of mind to lend. 235
Through Him are treasures hid beneath the ruin’s waste;
Thorns roses yield; our bodies joys of soul foretaste.
By workings of the pang of love for Him I burn;
Though sophistlike I rave, ’tis unto Him I turn.

Another stratagem the Vazīr next conceived;
From public life withdrew, and solitude achieved.
Admiring followers all were fain to mourn his loss;
For forty days, and more, in cell he bore his cross.
Their yearning for him grew more fierce from day to day;
They missed his good example, words, and zeal to pray. 240
They grieved that he in solitude should vex his flesh;
Their sympathies clung round him every day afresh.
“Without our teacher we’re a pastorless poor flock;
Blind beggars without staff to guide us to our nook.
For mercy’s sake, for love of God, have pity now;
No longer us deprive of consolation’s show.
We’re infants all, and thou our feeder, tutor thou,
Protection shed around; forsake us not just now.”

His answer was: “My spirit’s present with you, friends.
But issue from this hermitage my power transcends.” 245
The captains twelve, of legions, intercession made;
His grieved disciples raised a wail, a serenade:
“Great evil’s lighted on us! Ah! Beloved One!
We’re orphans made; our parent, thou, away art gone!
Raise not such pretext; push us not to our wit’s end.
We sob and sigh; we beat our breasts. Do comfort send!
Thou’st pampered, spoilt us with thy wondrous eloquence;
With doctrine from thy lips our souls cannot dispense.
Torment us not, for God’s sake! Pity on us take!
Be kind! This day, ‘To-morrow’ say not; to us wake! 250
Our hearts are rapt in thee; no heart in us remains.
Heartless and spiritless are we, poor bankrupt swains!
Like fishes out of water, so we writhe and gasp.
The dam break down; let flow the stream; avert death’s grasp!
Thou art the very paragon, the phœnix of the age.
Heaven’s mercy, save us; or, we perish, we enrage!”

To them he thus: “O men of little sense, take heed;
You foolishly are seeking elsewhere what you need.
Your ears stop up with wool; list not to speech of man;
The mote that blinds your eyes cast out. Then, see you can. 255
With cotton in your outward ears, you’ll plainly hear
The still small voice of conscience, drowned now by your fear.
All outward sense discard; all thought, reflection flee;
And straight you’ll hear, within, God’s voice: ‘Come unto Me.’
So long as with chitchat you keep yourselves awake,
Communion with the angels you in sleep forsake.
Our words and acts make up our outward habitudes;
Our inward man’s our converse with infinitudes.
Our senses barren are; they come of barren soil;
Our soul, like Jesus, walks the sea without turmoil. 260
Our outer man’s a barren wilderness, I ween;
The inner man, ’tis, sounds the depths of the Unseen.
If all our life be spent in chase of mundane things,
Our paths must lead o’er wastes, o’er hills, o’er ocean springs.
The Fount of Life,[109] where shall we find in such a course?
Death’s billows how avoid, and how escape remorse?
The desert’s moving sandhills are our schemes and plans.
Life-rills are abnegation, self-denial, man’s.”

Him answered his disciples: “Master, grieve us not.
Fresh sorrow, through pretences, add not to our lot. 265
Such heavy burden to endure we’ve not the power.
Poor suffering weaklings we, in sad affliction’s hour.
The heavens appear to raise themselves all vastly high;
But true sublimity’s God’s attribute. We sigh.
The food of every bird He gives in providence;
He says whose figs devoured shall be these ten days hence.
Who ’d give, in lieu of mother’s milk, to infants, bread,
Would kill them with improper food before them spread.
But when their teeth are grown, and deck their little mouths,
Themselves will ask for bread; milk suits not then their growths. 270
The unfledged chick is yet for flight all unprepared;
Attempting it, he falls a prey to puss, poor bird!
His wings well pinioned, he soars high in breezy air;
Needs no encouragement; his instinct leads him there.
Each howling imp is stilled at sound of thy sole voice;
And words from thee are utmost joy to all our race.
Our ears are gladdened as they catch thy tongue’s converse,
Each desert grows a garden, when thou’rt freshness’ source.
With thee amongst us, earth a foretaste gives of heaven,
Thou’rt our delight, from morn to eve our longed-for leaven. 275
Without thee, day’s refulgence we cannot employ,
If thou art present, every care is turned to joy.
High station, true, may be attained by charlatan;
But moral worth alone gives eminence to man.”

To them, now, he replied: “Your prayer ’s of no avail.
My counsel take and ponder. Naught else shall prevail.
If I’m a trusted man, my word is not a lie,
E’en though I’d say that black is white, or earth is sky.
If I’m perfection, who the perfect’s word denies?
If I am otherwise, why all this fuss and noise? 280
Forth from my solitude to come I’m not designed.
I’m communing with God; to His will I’m resigned.”

They still insisted: “Vazīr, that we’ll not deny,
But our remonstrance is a truly piteous cry.
We weep our eyes out through our grief thee not to see,
With sighs our hearts burst, vainly looking out for thee.
An infant quarrels not with its attentive nurse;
And yet it weeps, through knowing not what’s good from worse.
We are thy harps. The plectrum’s stroke is from thy hand.
’Tis thus we moan; smit by thy cunning harpist wand. 285
Like flutes of reed, our utterances are through thee found;
Or mountain vale, our echo’s but child of thy sound.
Or as chess-players, striving in their dubious game;
Our ‘check’ and ‘mate’ are from thee, man of mighty name.
What are we,--can we be? ’Tis thou’rt our life of life,
So long as thou’rt among us. If not, all is strife.
We’re naught;--we’re nothings. All our being is in thee.
Existence’ very self by thy frail form we see.
We’re lions, true; but stand on vanes of weathercocks,
Our twists and twirls, our starts, our jumps, are from
wind’s shocks. 290
These lions’ movements are in sight; the winds unseen.
The Great Unseen, th’ Almighty One, ’s behind the screen.
Our moving wind, our very being from thee springs.
Existence, else, were vain, not sheltered ’neath thy wings.
’Tis thou hast taught us, nothings, valued life to prize;
’Twas thou that made us, erring, lovers of th’ Allwise.
Take not from us the savour sweet of thy good gifts,
Thy cup, thy wine, thy relish, absence from us lifts.
But shouldst thou still refuse, who to repine ’d have heart?
Can pictures of the painter’s hand complain, and art? 295
No notice of us take; from us avert thy face;
But ne’er deride the claims of thy prevailing grace.
We were not; prayers from us arose not to thy ear;
Thy grace alone ’twas sought us out; thou drewest near.
Before the artist and his brush, the picture’s null;
Like unborn babe in mother’s womb, till time be full.
Before almighty power creation stands in wait,
As canvas ’fore the needle ’broiderer’s hand may mate.
A demon here, an angel there, or man, is bid
To be; now joy, now sorrow, rises up amid. 300
We have no hand to move; defend ourselves we can’t.
We have no breath, no speech to pray for aid in want.”

The Qur’ān ponder this my verse to understand.[110]
There God hath said: “Thou threwst not, when thou threwst”
the sand.[111]
Although we shoot an arrow swiftly to its mark,
The bow, the arrow, we ourselves, are from God’s ark.
There’s no compulsion here, though God can all compel.
’Tis not complaint, if I of God’s compulsion tell.
All our complaints of our felt needs are indices. 305
If shame we feel, of our freewill a sign it is.
Without choice were we, there ’d be no pretext for shame.
Why blush and hang the head, cast down the eyes so tame?
What doth a master in disciple always chide?
Why teacheth he in Providence still to confide?
Shouldst thou assert God carelessly makes us to act,—
That sun of verity He hides in mists of fact,—
An answer I will give,--just lend thy ear to me;
Forsake all blasphemy,--of God’s faith ever be:
“The longings, the regrets, that every sick man feels, 310
Awakings are of conscience. Sickness this reveals.
The moment man is ailing,--prisoner to bed sent,
He counts his sins, he asks for grace, vows to repent.
He sees the wickedness of all he’s said and done;
He promises, in future, errant ways to shun.
‘If but I’m spared,’ he says, ‘I never will sin more;
I’ll righteousness ensue, all trespasses abjure.’
By this thou seest that sickness is not all an ill.
’Tis but a time for waking conscience good to will.

Know then the aphorism, O seeker after truth,—
Whoe’er thou be, to whom scent of it may give ruth: 315
‘The man that’s most awake, with most of pain will reel;
The more his conscience pricks, more sorely sad he’ll feel!’
If thou wert really conscious God ’tis thee compels.
What need to feel ashamed;--to utter frightful yells?
Thou art not so; thou feelest not a captive’s chain;
Thou know’st thou’rt free to act, or from each act abstain.
Whoever saw a captive sporting in his bonds?
Whoever heard of prisoners acting vagabonds?
Hast thou had fetters fastened on to both thy feet?
Hast e’er beheld kings’ guardsmen resting in thy seat? 320
Then be not thou to others hard as jailer man.
Obduracy befits not him a king may ban.
Compulsion since thou feel’st not, make it not pretext.
Say’st that thou feel’st it? Where’s the proof? Show us it next.
In every act to which thou inclination hast,
Thou know’st thyself free agent: what thou willst, thou dost.
If any case arise thy will, thy wish, to brave,
Straightway compulsionist thou art: ‘God so would have.’”

The prophets were compulsionists to this world’s string.
Miscreants are compulsionists towards heaven’s King. 325
The prophets chose the better part, futurity;
The foolish choose the worse, the world’s fatuity.
Each bird will flock with birds of its own feather still;
The cock well knows his mate, and follows where she will.
Miscreants are the brood of hell, to which they go;
The goods of worldly life they choose. Then be it so.
The prophets are of race from heaven deriving birth;
To heaven they tend with heart and soul while here on earth.
’Twould never end the branches of this theme to count.
So let us sip again from our old story’s fount. 330

Within his cell ensconced, the Vazīr answer gave:
“Disciples mine, my firm resolve from me receive.
To me a very strict commandment Jesus spake:
‘From friends and kin of every class seclusion seek.
Thy face set tow’rds a wall; sit in some cell apart,
Forsake thyself; forgetfulness cast o’er thy heart.’
Permission’s thus denied with men to hold discourse.
I’ve naught to say; with mortals more I’ll not converse.
Good-bye, my friends! Adieu! You’ll never see me more,
My journey’s unto heaven; there I’ve laid my store. 335
Th’ empyrean beneath, so long as I have strayed,
Like firewood in a furnace have I wept; still prayed.
Henceforward I shall sit on Jesu’s own right hand,
In highest heaven enthroned, blest Paradise’s strand.”

The legion-captains now he called to him apart;
But one by one, in secret, counsels to impart.
To ev’ry one he said: “Successor thee I name,
The faith of Jesus to uphold and keep from shame.
All other captains thy commands will have to hear;
’Tis Jesus thus appoints thee others’ loads to bear. 340
Should any one against thee neck rebellious raise,
Him kill, imprison, or in exile end his days.
But while I live divulge not what to thee I’ve told,
Keep secret till my death this charge thou hast to hold.
Let no one know till then ’tis thou art chosen out,
Proclaim not thou thyself a king or prince devout.
Behold this scroll; take, study it; thyself instruct,
’Tis Jesu’s doctrine pure; from this His Church construct.”

Thus one by one their minds prepared were to be chief:
“’Tis thou’rt the chosen one; all else would be a thief.” 345
He named them each successor; made them so to feel.
Whate’er he told to one, to each did he reveal.
He gave to each a volume, writ from end to end;
No two alike; each different, and hard to blend.[112]
Their doctrines various, of every changing hue;
Diverse in sense, as objects’ forms exposed to view.
Their precepts and commands a very maze of guile,
Their sentiments impossible to reconcile.

The Vazīr now delayed another forty days;
Then slew himself,--set free his soul from earth’s affrays. 350
The people, hearing of his death, were sorely grieved;
Around his corpse collected; eyes, ears, scarce believed.
With many bitter moans to sorrow they gave vent;
Their breasts they beat, their hair they tore, their clothing rent.
To count their multitudes is in God’s power alone;
Turks, Arabs, Kurds, and Romans,[113] men of every zone.
They scattered o’er their heads the dust from his last home;
To mourn for him was balm, all ills to overcome.
They wept. Their bitter, briny tears they shed in floods;
His grave a pool; those tears, as streamlets from the woods. 355
To lose him was a grief unspeakable that fell
On rich and poor, on high and low, too sad to tell.

A month of mourning past, the people sought to know
Whom he’d appointed in his place their way to show.
Whom must we recognise successor to our saint?
Into whose hands commit the task of our restraint?
He was a sun of light; his fire hath turned to fume,
A candle now we need our darkness to illume.
Our friend is gone,--is lost to our inquiring eyes.
A substitute we seek,--memorial we may prize. 360
Our rose is withered;--rosebush leaves all blown away,
Which vase holds now the rose-scent in its perfumed clay?”

God is invisible to weakly mortal sight,
His prophets are a need, to guide His Church aright.
No! That’s not right! That phrase is sadly incorrect.
A prophet’s one with God; not two. Think well! Reflect!
They are not two; they’re one. Thou blind materialist!
With God they’re one; their forms but make Him manifest.
Thou seest the form alone; thy two eyes are at fault.
Look with thy soul; thou’lt see as God from heaven’s vault. 365
Thy two sights will united be straightway in one,
When thou behold’st the Light of God’s eternal throne.

Set up ten burning candles in one selfsame place,
A separate body, each, diffuses light and grace.
Their powers combine in one, to brighten that retreat;
Distinction now there’s none; one light alone we meet.
Count out a hundred apples, quinces, pears, or plums;
When mashed together, all their juice, their pulp, their scums.
Things spiritual division, number, parts, know not,
They split not into fractions, form no separate lot. 370

’Tis sweet when friends with friends together come and meet.
Trust then the spirit. “’Tis the letter kills”--repeat.
Thy body mortify; thy flesh consume with pains.
Behind it hid thou’lt find God’s unity--thy gains.
If thou the body vex not,--bring not low betimes,
The flesh will thee destroy, my friend, in fiery flames.
The flesh it is that shows itself to human heart;
The flesh it is demands asceticism’s sharp smart.

We simple were; one essence was the source of all.
Nor head, nor foot had we; one pristine lot did fall. 375
One substance held us; we were clear as is the sun;
No knots or gnurs within us, free as water’s run.
On taking fleshly form, that simple essence, then,
Became divided, split, like shadows in each glen.
Make low the hills and hillocks, level make the plain;
No shadow’s left; the whole becomes one scene again.

With pleasure I’d this matter clearer put, and joy.
But tender consciences I seek not to annoy.
Abstruser points there are, as keen as sword in fight.
If reason’s shield thou hast not, refuge take in flight. 380
My arguments contest not, unless well prepared.
Sharp blade will cut; it pities not; no life is spared.
I sheathe my sword of argument,--will not make assault.
Lest muddlers read me wrong, and say ’tis I’m at fault.

We come now back again, to follow up our tale,
To keep our faith with readers, feminine and male;
And say again, the people rose up as one man,
Demanding who should work out our dead Vazīr’s plan.

One legion-captain forward came, out of the twelve,
That grieving people’s furrowed field anew to delve. 385
Said he: “Behold! successor am I to the saint.
In Jesu’s stead I’m regent, by his own constraint.
You see this scroll. ’Tis evidence of what I say:
The dead Vazīr’s successorship is mine to-day!”[114]
A second captain started up, as from ambush;
Contested all those words; his own claim then did push.
Forth from his bosom he another scroll produced,
And then the people’s wrath flamed high; not soon reduced.
The other captains, too,--each his own train at back,—
Unsheathed their swords, and threatened both their skulls
to crack. 390
Then each one of the twelve, his sword and scroll in hand,
Upon the others set, like baited bull on brand.
The slain were strewn in heaps of many hundred men,
Their heads were piled in pyramids, by thousands ten.
Their blood was shed in torrents, flowing on the plain.
The dust arose in clouds through this commotion vain.
The seeds of discord sown by that knave’s treacherous hand,
Had now produced their harvest, fatal to the land.
The nuts he cracked were skulls; their kernels, human brains.
The bodies slain through him held precious souls in chains. 395

Be killed, or die, as in thy lot may be decreed.
So with pomegranates, apples, when sliced up at need.
The sweet and sound are prized, and straightway put to use;
The sour and rotten cast away, worthless refuse.
A word with sense and meaning’s ever eloquent;
Bald nonsense is laughed down in scorn or merriment.
Thou fool, materialist! Think closer: look to sense.[115]
The spirit ’tis gives value; words are mere pretence.
Prefer the company of those who spirit seek.
So mayst thou grace attain,—“God’s servant be,”[116] and meek. 400

A life without a soul or spirit in our frame,
Like wooden sword in sheath, were but a senseless name.
Within its sheath while kept, of value it may seem;
When drawn, ’tis only fit for matchwood, men will deem,
Arm not thyself with wooden sword in battle’s day.
Examine well thy weapon, if thou ’d have fair play.
Shouldst find thy sword of wood, another seek forthwith;
If adamant it prove to be, then join thy kith.

The truest swords are found in th’ arm’ry of the saints.
Their converse is to thee a balm for all complaints. 405
The wise have ever said, with uniform accord:
“Most truly wise was he, ‘the Mercy of the Lord.’”[117]

Dost buy a pomegranate? A burst fruit still elect.
The crack reveals its grains; thou seest they’ve no defect.
E’en so, good friend, blest be the man whose mouth reveals
The heart-thought pearls their casket, his pure soul, conceals.
But inauspicious is the opening tulip’s crack;
This patent makes to all that its heartcore is black.
The burst pomegranate is a sunny orchard’s pride.
So speech of worthy men may waft thee to truth’s side. 410
Society with saints no doubt’s of great avail;
To piety it leads; “God’s fear shall never fail.”[118]
Thou wast a very rock, a worthless pebble stone;
By saints’ communion fined, a pearl of price thou’st shone.
Then love the saints. Their love plant deeply in thy heart.
The pure of mind alone deserve a pure love’s part.
Court not despair; hope ever springs in human breast.
Seek not the dark; the Sun of Light shines full confest.
The spirit ever leads to haunts of holy men;
The flesh would cast thee in the pit of sin again. 415
Beware! Feed thou thy soul with love from holy ground.
Make haste! Seek means of grace from one who grace has found.
Petition make! Seize hold upon the skirts of saints.
Through them thou’lt learn how God his favour grants.
The Gospel names the name of Ahmed;[119] he the last,
As chief of prophets;--purity’s bright ocean, vast.
His lineaments, his virtues, ways of matchless good;
With notice of his wars, his fasts, and eke his food,
Some Christian folks, on mention of that sacred name,
And this recital of his qualities and fame, 420
A merit to acquire, were wont to kiss the book,
To bow with reverence deep, humility in look.
That folk in all the troubles we’ve related now
Were safe; nor bloodshed, nor foul faction did them know.
Secured were they from scrolls, sword, captains, and Vazīr,
In name of Ahmed Mustafà they’d trust, not fear.
Descendants, numerous in race, they left behind;
Their faith in Ahmed they a tower of strength did find.
But other Christian folks to him refused to bow.
The blessed name of Mustafà they deemed too low. 425
Requital brought them punishment for this offence;
A prey they fell unmourned to that Vazīr’s pretence.
Their false creed, with their tribes, was quickly brought to end,
Through those twelve lying volumes his deceit had penn’d.
The name of Ahmed, thus, a friend is proved, of might;
Of light by day a pillar, shelt’ring cloud by night.
A castle inexpugnable, a stronghold safe,
As he himself was Trusty,[120] though his foes might chafe.
How fatal the disasters pictured here above,
The fruit of foul duplicity’s pretended love. 430

IV.

Another Jewish King, Persecutor of Christians.

A second Jewish king, descendant of the first,
To persecute the Christians showed hate’s fiercest thirst.
If information’s sought about this wicked king,
That chapter of the Qur’ān read: “Heaven’s Girdle-Ring.”[121]
A sorry rite it was the first had introduced;
With cruel zeal this wicked rite the last abused.

The introducer of a rule that tends to ill,
Draws on his head deep curses, morn and even, still.
The good decease; their bright example serves as guide;
The wicked soon decay; their name all men deride. 5
The children of those sinners, till the trump of doom,
Are cursed as soon as born; no lot more full of gloom.

How many springs burst forth, one salt, the other sweet;
Their savour changes, while the days and nights compete.
The good are promised their inheritance aloft,
Of waters sweet;[122] in Scripture mentioned oft and oft.[123]
The seeker’s wish, if rightly we consider it,
A scintillation is of flame from holy writ.
No flame exists apart from body whence it burns;
Where’er the burning body hies, the flame, too, turns. 10
A window-light will wander all around a room;
Because the rising sun to sunset tends, and gloom.
That which to any constellation’s stars pertains,
Must move with it, rise, set, south, as its place ordains.

The man who under Venus’ influence was born
Is joyous, amorous, ambitious, with greed torn.
If Mars his planet be, his temper’s bellicose;
War, scandal, litigation,--these he most does choose.

But other stars there are, the planets, seven, beside;
And unto men from them nor good, nor ills betide. 15
Revolving in another firmament than they,
Above the spheres that bear the orbs of night and day.
Bright through the moral splendour lent them by the Lord;
Not bound together quite, nor yet in disaccord.
The man whose soul is influenced by one of those,
Like meteors, still shall drive away the spirit’s foes.
His disposition feeleth not the rage of Mars;
He temporises;--meekly acts in prosperous wars.
His light’s triumphant;--darkness it shall never know.
Between two fingers holdeth he the truth, I trow. 20

The truth doth shed a shining light on human souls,
Received by heaven’s favourites, in special ghostly strolls.
Illumined with that light, as spangles deck a bride,
They turn their souls to God, contemning all beside.
Who feels not keenly love’s great soul-compelling might,
Is portionless of spangles from truth’s flashing light.

All _parts_ must ever share the nature of their _whole_,
As nightingale pours out unto one rose its soul.
Whatever _property_ may qualify a _thing_
Externally, man’s qualities are mind’s offspring. 25

From purity, rich colours rise, good qualities;
Stains,--moral, or as dyes,--from gross impurities.

“_God’s Baptism_” is the name of all that’s good in man;
“_The curse of God_,” of all that’s evil in our plan.[124]
In which of these two seas our streamlets may subside,
They but return into the source from whence their tide.
From mountain-tops, swift torrents rushing down apace.
From men’s frames, love-inspired souls, anon the race.

The counsel hear, that now, this Jewish dog did take.
Beside a fire a hideous idol he did make, 30
And proclamation ran: “Whoever ’d save his soul,
This idol worships; or in fire he’s burnt to coal.”[125]
Thus having made his hate an idol to himself,
A second idol straightway he invents, this elf.

The mother of all idols is our fleshly pride.
They’re dragons; this, the egg of cockatrice’s bride.
The flesh is flint and steel; our pride is but its spark.
That pride pervades the flesh as fecundation’s mark.
Can moisture quench the latent spark in flint and steel?
Can man be safe while flesh and pride he lives to feel; 35
In flint and steel we know that fire is still alive.
No water’s of avail that fire from them to drive.
With water we put out a fire when burning bright;
The spark in flint and steel is safe from water’s might.

From flint and steel of flesh what burnings still ensue!
Their sparks, the blasphemies of Christian and of Jew!
If water in the jug and pitcher come to end,
On wellspring we must draw, a fresh supply to send.
Our idol is the muddy dregs left in our jug;
The flesh the sewer from whence it filters, spite of plug. 40
The graven idol (fed from blackest sewer tide
In flesh, its graver), was as fountain by wayside.
The inward idol, pride, the filthy jug’s black slush;
The prurient flesh, the source from which it had its gush.

A hundred potters’ pitchers one small stone can break;
And spill the cooling water drawn our thirst to slake.
To smash an idol, too, quite easy may appear;
Not easy to root out the flesh; too hard, I fear.

Would see the picture of the flesh, inquiring youths?
Description read of hell, with seven yawning mouths.[126] 45

From each soul’s flesh comes forth a special mode of guile.
Each guile, a whirlpool ready Pharaoh’s hosts to spoil.
In Moses, and in Moses’ God, seek refuge then.
Abandon not God’s faith for Pharaohs and their men.
The one true God adore; in Ahmed’s faith believe.
Thy soul and body save,--from Abū-Jahl retrieve.[127]
The Jew a Christian mother to that idol brought.
An infant in her arms; the fire with blazes fraught.
“Fall down and worship;” cried he, “senseless stock adore;
The fire shall then not harm thee, now, nor evermore.” 50
That mother was a woman firm in true belief;
And thence disdained prostration, though ’t should give relief.

They snatched her infant; next, they dashed it in the flame.
The mother’s spirit quailed to see this deed of shame.
Though not herself, to save her infant, she’d bow down.
But lo! a miracle! The babe cried: “Let alone!
Uninjured am I here. Come in. Be not dismayed.
’Tis cool and pleasant. Cease to feel of fire afraid;—
Mere blinding bandage to the eyes;--naught but a veil.
God’s mercy’s here revealed,--made manifest. All hail! 55
Come in, my mother, dear. The truth thou shalt record.
Thou’lt here perceive how saints hold converse with the Lord.
Come in; and witness water blazing high, as fire.
This is a world where flame like water is;--not dire.
Come. Look on miracles for blessed Abr’am wrought;[128]
Whose furnace changed to gardens, out of firewood brought.
Death then I underwent, when I was born of thee.
The fear of death swept o’er me, ere my eyes could see.
With birth I ’scaped from prison, narrow, dark, and drear;
Emerging to a world, vast, radiant, bright, and clear. 60
Alas! that world, you see, is but a second womb.
Joy, comfort, happiness, are found beyond the tomb.
Within this fire a realm of wonders lies around;
Each atom’s here a Jesus;--balm to heal each wound.
This world I’m in’s reality;--not merely form.
The scene I’ve left’s all vanity;--food for the worm.
Come in, my mother; quick! Seize this auspicious hour.
Come in! Let opportunity not ’scape thy pow’r.
Come in; come in; in name of parent’s tenderness.
Come in! This fire has no devouring ruthlessness. 65
Come in! Thou’st witnessed all that Jewish dog can move.
Come in! The grace and power of God Almighty prove.
’Tis from my love for thee I thus so much insist;
From pleasure felt by me, for thee I’ve fear dismissed.
Come in; come in! And others call, to follow thee.
The Great King here His bounteous table’s spread for me.
Come in; come in! All of you, saints of God, elect!
Resigned ones![129] Faith’s cup of martyrdom select!
Come in! Flock in; in crowds; as moths around a light!
This year has tens of thousands springs; but not one night.” 70

Thus loudly cried the infant from its bed of flame.
Th’ assembled crowds all heard it. All were seized with shame.
A sudden holy impulse urged them to obey.
In crowds those men and women cast their lives away.
No force was needed;--no compulsion;--all was love;
For bitterness is sweet to all whom love doth move.
To such a point it came that guards and soldiers, all,
Were fain to cry: “Withhold! The fire is more than full!”

The Jewish king at sight of all this love and zeal,
Was shamed,--was thunderstruck; his wicked heart did reel. 75
He saw that faith can give the lover’s ardent flame.
Self-sacrifice is naught in true devotion’s name.
Thank God! Beelzebub was conquered in that Jew.
Thank God! ’Twas Satan’s self these darksome deeds did rue.
The shame he sought to bring upon the cheeks of some,
A hundredfold was heaped on his own head at home.
He thought from others’ shame the veiling leaf to tear;
He saw them safe, his own foul nakedness laid bare.

A ribald fellow once, by lewdest mob sustained,
Called railing out on Ahmed. Wry his mouth remained. 80
He then came begging pity, in the Prophet’s trace:
“Forgive, Muhammed, who’rt endued with wisdom’s grace.
For want of knowing better, insolent I was.
’Tis I that merit scorn and mockery. Alas!”

When God decides to humble any sinner, proud,
A demon stirs this last t’ insult some man of God.
And he whom God elects to cloak where ’tis he halts,
Has grace bestowed on him to cover others’ faults.
Should favour from the Lord in mercy reach a man,
Humility is given him; to pray ’s part of his plan. 85

How blessed are the eyes that smart with sorrow’s brine!
How blessed is the heart inflamed with love divine!
Contrition’s tears are ever hallowed by heaven’s smile.
The latter end of all things man should scan awhile.
Wherever water flows, the fields are fresh and green.
Tears followed are by grace;--as all the prophets ween.
Then imitate the water-wheel, that groans and weeps.[130]
By prayers, and moans, and tears, a man his heart pure keeps.
Wouldst thou shed tears? Feel pity, when thou meetest woe.
Wouldst mercy find? Show mercy, when men bow them low. 90

The Jewish king reproached the fire: “O raging thing!
Thy all-destructive might, where is it? Where’s thy sting?
If thou wilt not consume, what quality hast thou?
Or has my fortune veered; and with it, thy dread glow?
Thou sparest not thy worshippers, the Magian race.
Whence comes it; these who spurn thee, Christians, meet with grace?
Thou never wast, O fire, for patience noted here.
Why burn’st thou not? What is there? Hast thou lost thy power?
Is this eye-binding?[131] Is it, rather, reason’s blind?
How is’t thy flames consume not all their hated kind? 95
Bewitched thee have they? Or is’t magic natural?
Or is’t my fortune wills that thou turn prodigal?”

To him the fire: “O miscreant! I’m still the same.
Come in and try, thou, how thou’lt find my smallest flame.
My nature, as my substance, has not suffered change.
Outside my nature’s limit I’ve no power to range.
At door of Turkman’s tent the savage household dogs
Do wag their tails before a guest, and crouch like logs.
But should a stranger pass by, near the guarded tent,
Him then those dogs assail, with lion-like intent. 100
Less than a dog I’m not, in service to my Lord.
Than Turkman less, there’s none, in rights, upon earth’s sward.”

When fire thy body injures, and inflicts some harm;
Remember, its consuming power can also warm.
And when a fire thus serves thee, acts some needful part,
Reflect! Those qualities thou seest did God impart.
Art injured, ’haps? Fall down; entreat the Lord with prayer.
The hurtful power was given by Him in gracious care.
Should He so will, each injury a blessing is.
Chained captives find their freedom by a word of His. 105

Fire, air, earth, water, all are servants of their God.
I, thou, them lifeless deem. He knows they live and plod.
In presence of the great Creator fire must still
Its service do; and, lover-like, work out His will.
Thou strikest flint on steel; fire instantly leaps forth.
’Tis by commandment of the Lord it thus takes birth.
Strike not together, thou, the flint and steel of lust.
For, male and female like, they’ll generate; they must.

The flint and steel are means. Far higher raise thy look.
With reason thou’rt endowed. Go; read the holy book. 110
One means comes from another means; and cause from cause.
Without a means or cause, no means from self e’er rose.
The means by which all prophets’ miracles are wrought,
Of higher order are than earthly means; no doubt.
Man’s mind can compass how these latter act, and when;
The former hidden are from all but prophet’s ken.
These former ’tis that give the latter power to act;
And rarely, that, their normal action, counteract.

A means a rope is, by the help of which we reach;
And in this worldly pit by means each reaches each. 115
Around its coiling cylinder the well-rope’s wound.
To shut our eyes to this would blind indeed be found.
The ropes by means of which results are seen to steer,
In this our world, deem not they’re moved by star or sphere;
Lest thou become confused and giddy like a wheel;—
Take fire, consume, like tinder, sparks of shame to feel.

The air becomes a fire at times by God’s decree.
Both air and fire run wild with joy, His means to be.
The streams of mercy, the consuming fires of wrath,
Thou’lt see, my son, are both from God. Look well, forsooth. 120
Were not the wind aware of God’s almighty power,
How had it ever blown the blast of ‘Ād’s[132] last hour?
Around his Muslims Hūd a saving circle drew.
The wind within that mystic circuit softly blew.
While all that were beyond were dashed to pieces soon.
Like chaff before the breeze, their limbs around were strewn.

Shaybān the shepherd, too, a circle round his fold
Was used to draw; whate’er the season, hot or cold;
On Fridays, when, at midday’s sacred hour of praise,
He to a congregation hied; lest wolf should seize. 125
No wolf was ever known to break the holy spell;
Nor sheep to stray beyond; each knew the limit well.

To wind, to wolf, to sheep, and lusts of every one,
The circle traced by saint a barrier was, like stone.
To Gnostic, so likewise, the harmless gale of death
Blows mild and gentle, summer-breezes-like on heath.
And fire was fangless; could not Abraham offend.
How should it hurt him? Was he not God’s “Chosen Friend”?

The pious man burns not in fire of fleshly lust.
But sinners still consumed are upon earth’s crust. 130
The Red Sea waves, all raging by divine command,
The host of Israel knew; but Pharaoh’s armies drown’d.
The earth, again, wide gaping at Jehovah’s word,
Did Korah and his wealth devour; but Moses spared.[133]

In Jesu’s hand, warmed with his breath, the fictile clay
As living birds arose, spread wing, and flew away.[134]
Thy lauds and praises, too, breath from thy frame account.
Sincerity them vivifies; to heaven they mount.

The rock of Sion danced at sight of Moses’ God[135]
As perfect cenobite; its faults were all removed. 135
What wonder if a hill should dance and saint become?
Was not great Moses’ self a clod of clay and loam?

The Jewish king now manifested great surprise.
These things, he said, were mockeries, mere patent lies.
His councillors conjured him more sedate to be;
And not to push his hardihood to rash degree.
These councillors he fettered, into prison cast;
Injustice to injustice adding, first and last.

A shout was heard from heaven when matters reached that point:
“Jew dog! Prepare for vengeance from on high! Aroynt!” 140
The fire then blazed amain; its flames lapped all around.
It slew and burnt the mob of Jews from off the ground.
Their origin was hell, from whence their souls had come;
Their goal was also hell; to it they now went home.
The Jewish race is hellish; many proofs are shown.
Parts are they of a whole accursed; as is well known.
Their nature hellish; all their joy God’s saints to burn.
Their fire recoiled upon themselves. ’Twas justice’ turn.
For them, who were, by nature, children born of wrath,
The lowest depths of hell were fittest cells, forsooth. 145
A mother ever yearneth after her own child;
A dam is ever followed by her offspring wild.

Though true that water may enclosed be in a tank,
The air will it absorb. ’Twas thence to earth it sank.
Air sets it free; direct, restores it to its source,
By little and by little. None perceive its course.

So, too, our breath, in manner like, steals soul away,
By little and by little, from this house of clay,
In words of praise, ascending to God’s holy throne,
From us to where He reigns;--as known to Him alone. 150

Our breathings rise on wings of true sincerity,
The offerings of our hearts to all eternity.
We then receive rewards for those poor words of praise,
In tenfold showers of mercy from th’ Ancient of Days.
And we are still constrained to utter songs of thanks,
That man should so be raised above th’ angelic ranks.
This rising and descending alternates for aye.
The Lord forbid that I should fail therein one day!
We’re drawn, we are attracted, so to love the Lord;
As we were first instructed, firm to trust His word. 155

Each man will turn his eyes in hope towards the place,
Where he has tasted joy some former day of grace.
The pleasures of each kind are most with their own kin;
As part must share with whole its qualities, its sin.
Things needs must be assigned unto a common class,
If aught they have in common; two will form a race.
Thus bread and water are not human at the first;
But human they become, through hunger and through thirst.
In form they have no tie with us of human kind;
But through a special link they kindred with us find. 160

If pleasure, then, we find in what’s not of our race,
Be sure there’s some connection through which this takes place.
If that connection but resemblance be in shape,
It will not last; it’s for a time; it must escape.

’Tis true that birds find pleasure in a whistle’s note;
But then they fancy ’tis their mate’s, on whom they dote.
And if a thirsty man take pleasure in his wine,
He tastes the lees, and loathes. To water he’ll incline.
A pauper may amused be with counterfeited coin;
But take this to the mint; defaced ’twill be, in fine. 165
Then be not thou misled with gilded counterfeit;
Delusion will thee plunge headlong into hell’s pit.

V.

The Lion and the Beasts.

Kalīl’ and Dimna’s book relates a charming tale,[136]
From which males may a moral draw;--and eke, female.

Within a shelter’d vale, four-footed game in droves,
Were kept in tremor by a lion from its groves.
So frequently had he borne victims off from thence,
The vale a prison had become in every sense.

A consultation held, they fair proposals state,
To satisfy the lion’s hunger by a rate;
But on condition that he rapine lay aside,
And not prolong disquiet in that valley wide. 5

The lion gave consent, if they’d perform their part;
Remarking: “I’ve a victim been to wily art.
Man persecutes me with his deadly stratagems;
The snake and scorpion sting me;--rancour’s true emblems.
But worse than any man, in venom and in spleen,
The fleshly lust within me traitor’s always been.
But I’ve grown wary. Has not Ahmed said: ‘Rely!
Believers are not twice caught by the selfsame lie?’”[137]
Their answer was: “O most sagacious, knowing guide,
Thy caution pray dismiss; decree of God abide. 10
Suspicion, caution, ever is corroding ill.
Put trust in Providence; and God thy maw will fill.
Strive not with Providence, however strong thou be;
Lest Providence should take offence, and war with thee.”