HIND is the friend of the wounded heart, her earth is the remedy of sickness; her soil is rich, may ill-luck never befall it. To the people of this land the secrets of heaven are all revealed. There all the treasures of the earth are gathered together. In Hind the traveller has no pleasure in his own country; wise men are her lovers; the kings of the earth her beggars. Hind is the mother of holy men; oh enemies of God, war not with her.* Hidden in her earth is the treasure of sanctity even as the water of life is hidden in darkness. There is the company of the wise met together, of the wise who boast not their wisdom; they make their hearts fresh as with water, and not as with a mirage; the sound of their voices is as a shell full of pearls and not as a drum full of noise and emptiness. In their hand they hold the mirror in which good and bad are made clear by knowledge and humble wisdom; not for the deception of a few fools, not in self-praise, or in vanity. They have a tongue like an Indian sword, but it hurts no one; they answer bitter words with sweetness. They see with eyes of wisdom that good and bad, pleasure and pain come all from God. Hind is to-day the refuge of wisdom; every city of the land is the companion of wisdom, and Delhi most of all.

Delhi is the springtime of good fortune, a copy of the garden of paradise; he who enters that garden obtains all his desire. The ground of Delhi is Joseph's land; Egypt is jealous of it. Every street shines like a garden with tulip faces; every house is the home of pleasure, and happi­ness is native to the soil. Oh heaven preserve her people of thy mercy; oh God, who honourest the good, confound her adversaries!