Just stir them up a little, for a trial's sake;
Thou'lt see their mud discolour all the water's lake.
There's ooze at bottom of the pond,-be sure of that,-
However clear the surface of the dull dead flat.
Our greatest teacher is endowed with fair device.
He digs a conduit in the very soil of vice.
How can he make the water of that conduit pure?
All human wisdom's but one spark from God's vast store.
Does sword inflict a wound in its own handle,-blade?
Find me a surgeon who shall cure a gash so made.
Where wound exists, the flies will ever flock amain,
To hide its hideousness from sight, and lull the pain,
Those flies the symbols are of man's vain, baseless thoughts ;
The wound they cover over's ignorance high-wrought.
'Tis only when the teacher salve applies with skill,
The throes are quieted that shoot across man's will.
He then imagines that his wound is healing fast.
Effect this is of cunning used, that salve to cast.
O man, whose back is galled, accept his salve with thanks.
Thy solace thence arises; not from thy own pranks.
The Prophet's First Amanuensis.
THERE was a scribe, before 'Uthmān 2 had filled that post, Most diligent in noting revelation's host.
Whatever text the Prophet had to promulgate
On parchment did this scribe trace all its terms of fate.
The splendour of those inspirations filled his soul. His mind became enlightened, as a glowing coal. The substance of that wisdom from the Prophet came. The silly scribe imagined 'twas his genius' flame: "The texts the Prophet promulgates with rare effect, 5 Appear verbatim in my mind, without defect."
The Prophet was aware of this egregious sin.
The wrath of God descended from high heaven's welkin.
The scribe renounced his office, and his faith at once.
Religion's fiercest foe he stood now, for the nonce.
The Prophet questioned him: "Benighted, wretched man!
If light there be in thee, whence this thy darkest plan?
Hadst thou a fountain of God's truth been, verily,
This turbid stream had never flowed thence, heavily."
Not caring to expose his scribe to all his friends,
10 The Prophet held his peace, to watch th' adventure's ends.
1 I have failed to discover the name and history of the individual here used to point a moral by our great
poet. Ibnu-Hisham and Nawawi do
not mention him.-Translator.
2 Osman.
The scribe's heart hardened more and more as time rolled on.
Repentance he felt not; his pride grew thereupon.
He sighed. His sighs were not the signs of contrite heart;
But tokens sure that justice made him feel its smart.
God caused his pride to weigh more heavy than a chain.
How many thus are fettered; none can heal their pain.
His blasphemy and pride held him in iron grip;
His very sighs he felt constrained to stifle on his lip.
He cried: "The iron collars they're compelled to wear; '1
There's naught but iron collars; these are all we bear!
'Behind them is a barrier; but We've bound their eyes,' 2
So that they see not what's before, behind those ties."
The barrier so upreared appears a level plain;
He knows not 'tis a bourn that checks him like a chain.
Thy witness is a barrier, bars sight of the Lord;
Thy teacher is a veil, shuts out God's holy word.
How many infidels, oh! long faith to possess !
Their pride, their honour, stands between them and success.
That barrier, unseen, 's than iron firmer still.
An axe can hew through iron; not through stubborn will. 20 A bond of iron may be broken by due means;
A moral bond is what holds firmest, where it leans.
A bee, a wasp, may sting one to the very quick;
Yet may the same be warded by precaution's trick.
But what's to do when sting is in our very selves?
The pain is then most biting, deeper far it delves.
Unwillingly has leaped this subject from my mind.
I fear 'twill leave despair in many, deep behind.
Despair thou not; take consolation to thy soul;
And cry to that Deliverer who can make thee whole :
"Thou Lover of forgiveness! Pardon to me grant!
Physician of the soul! Relieve my direful want!"
Such counsel wise drove mad that erring sinner, quite.
Think not of him. "Twill tire thy mind beyond respite.
My friend! This counsel tells with equal force on thee.
It flows through all the saints, though transient thou it see.
Within the house a gleam of light has been espied.
This light comes from a neighbour's lamp, with oil supplied.
Give thanks for it. Be not puffed up. Snort not, good man!
3o To me lend ear. Presumption chase to utmost span.
Alas! that this most transient ray of dubious light,
The nations has seduced from God's sole path of right.
I'll be the very slave of him, who, at each stage,
Will not suppose the goal 'tis of his pilgrimage.
How many stages are there must be left behind,
Before the traveller reach the home he bears in mind.
Although the iron may glow red, the colour's not
Its own; 'tis but reflection of the fire that's hot.
A window or a house with light may be suffused;
35 But still, the source of light is in the sun, diffused.
Each wall, each gate, may cry amain: "I shine! I shine!
I have no need of other's light. 'Tis mine! 'Tis mine!"
But then the sun demurs: "O thing of little sense!
So soon as I shall set, thy darkness will be dense!"
The plants may think their verdure's all their very own.
So fresh, so green; so pleasant every flower full-blown.
But then again the summer season makes comment:
"When I am past, your present charms will soon be spent."
A beauty's lovely body prides itself as fair. 40 Her spirit, having hid itself within its lair,
Remarks: "Thou dunghill! Wherefore all this silly pride?
Thou bloomest but a day or two, while I preside.
Thy affectation, vanity, 's too vast for me.
But stay till I depart: then straightway thou shalt see.
Thy lovers then shall loathe thy charms, adored before.
To worms, and toads, and snakes they'll fling thee, as
Thy stench shall make him hold his nose in deep disgust, Who lately in thy presence would have licked the dust."
Reflections from the spirit are the tongue, the eye, the ear.
Accessions from the fire steam's bubbles 'tis upbear.
E'en as the soul's reflection on the body acts,
Reflection from th' inspiring saints my soul impacts.
When my soul's life shall quit my soul, alack-a-day!
My soul shall lifeless be, like mortal soulless clay.
'Tis therefore that I cast myself down in the dust,
That earth may witness bear for me before th' All-Just.
In day of judgment, "when the earth shall quake with fear," 1
Earth shall itself bear witness to my prayerful tear.
Command shall issue: "Loud proclaim the acts thou'st seen,"
The earth, the rocks, a tongue shall find, to tell what's been. 50 Philosophers deny this, in their pride of mind;
But tell them: "Dash your heads against a wall, ye blind!"
The speech of earth, of water, and of plastic clay,
Is audible unto the ears of saints that pray.
Philosophers who will deny God's saving grace,
Are strangers to the powers of saints' inspired race.
He holds that inclination, working on man's brain,
Gives rise to heated phantasy's legerdemain.
True, his own blasphemy and lack of firm belief
Have raised in him denial's phantom, reason's thief.
Philosophers deny the devil does exist;
While they themselves his sport are, in his cursed fist.
Hast never seen the devil? Look at thy own self!
Who'd paint his forehead blue, unless deceived by elf? 2
2 In allusion to the Brahminical marks used in India.
|