So long as a man remains imprisoned in the snare of passions and lusts, it is hard for him to maintain this close communion [with the “Truth”]. But from the moment that sweet influence takes effect on him, expelling from his mind the firebrand of vain imaginations and suggestions, the pleasure he experiences therefrom predominates over bodily pleasures and intellectual enjoyments. Then the painful sense of effort passes away, and the joys of contemplation take possession of his mind; he banishes from his heart all alien distractions, and with the tongue of ecstasy murmurs this canticle—

Like bulbul I'm inebriate with Thee,*
My sorrows grow from memories of Thee,
Yet all earth's joys are dust beneath the feet
Of those entrancing memories of Thee.