The light diffused by teachers in these latter days...
The light diffused by teachers in these latter days, No other is than what was shown by earlier rays. Our Prophet said: "The breathings of the Lord your God, 3 45 In these your days of pilgrimage, on all sides prod. Your ears and minds lend ye to all signs of the times; Perchance ye may inhale those breathings in these climes." One breathing came and found you. Straightway it was gone. To all who sought, new life it gave. It then had done. Another breathing's come. Be ye not unprepared.
Ye may not let it go by. Something must be shared. It found your souls on fire. ’Tis thence they cease to burn. Your souls it found all corpses. Life it made return. Your fiery souls by it all quickly were puffed out. 50 Dead souls of yours by it began aloud to shout. Their present calm, and this vivacity's from heaven; Resembling not the turbulence by which man's driven. One breathing from the Lord, when blown on earth and air, Ill qualities converts straight into all that's fair.
For fear lest any breathing such as this thee shake, Read thou the text: "They shunned the task to undertake." 1 Had not " they shrunk from it," where now would’st thou have been? Had they not feared, would’st thou this grade have ever seen? But yesterday an opening gleamed for better things; Till greed for fleshly morsels stopped the way of kings. 55 For sake of some such morsel Luqmān was made bail. 2 The time's now that for Luqmān morsel’d not avail.
The troubles we endure are all for morsel's sake. Be Luqmān. Thou’lt extract the thorn that makes thee ache. A thorn or chafing hurt not Luqmān's horny hand. Through greed thou lackest the discipline made him so bland. The thing thou thoughtest a date-palm, know, is but a thorn. Ungrateful, uninformed thou art, now, as when born. The soul of Luqmān was a vineyard of the Lord. Why then into his soul did thorn pierce like a sword?
60 Thorn-eating camel, truly, is this world of ours, Ahmed, then, came and mounted;-him that camel bears. O camel, on thy back thou bearest a vase of rose. On thee from thence have sprouted rosebuds, as God knows. Thy tastes thee lead to camel-thorn and wastes of sand. To thee the thorn's a rose; the wilderness, rich land. O thou who in such quest hast wandered up and down, How long wilt thou contend rose-garden's sandy down? Thou canst not now extract the thorn from thy sore foot.