In the name of Him whose name is the fortress of the universe,

Whom to praise is the gem on the sword of the tongue,

Whose name satisfies every desire of the palate;

And from the fountain of whose benefits is derived all its freshness.

From Him proceed the thousand subtleties

Which, fine as a hair, the reason discovers with every breath;

The High God—the Eternal—the All-knowing—

Who is able to give strength to him that is weak;

Who hath lighted up the sky with the host of heaven,

And ornamented the earth with the multitude of men.

He planned the vault of the revolving sphere,

And fixed it on the walls of the four Elements;

He planted the musk-pod in the navel of the rose;

He clasped its ornaments round the beautiful rosebush;

He wove their delicate vestures for the brides of the spring;

He gave its stature to the cypress on the rivulet.

He gives its loftiness to every lofty thought;

He abases to humility every self-lauding fancy;

Forgives the sins of the reckless drunkard;

And takes back to his service the repentant hypocrite.

He is the companion of the lonely night-watchers;

The comrade of those who toil through the day;

From the ocean of His kindness the vernal cloud

Sheds its water on the thorn and the jessamine;

From the mine of His bounty the autumnal wind

Spangles with gold the carpet of the meadow;

The palate of the good man He sweetens with the sugar of His benefits,

His indignation turns the delights of the bitter-tongued into poison;

From His being flows that burning sun,

By which every atom is penetrated with light.

Were He to hide His face from sun or from moon,

Its ball would drop into the void of non-existence.

On us His favour has bestowed our being,

For He is, and His being gives being to us.

From the vault of heaven to the centre of the earth

Should’st thou travel without stopping on the foot of conjecture or comprehension;

Should’st thou descend downwards, or should’st thou hasten upwards,

Thou canst not go beyond the bounds of His wisdom.

His essence, free from “How and How-much,”

Is freer still from “Low and Lofty.”

Incomparable Himself, He determines “all quantities and degrees,”

And, compared with His sublime greatness, all grandeur is meanness.

Wisdom in His presence is disturbed in its counsels;

In search of His ways we are without hand or foot.

If in His benignity He advances not His steps to meet us,

Our distance from Him is every moment greater and greater.

When rises the loud cry to the exaltation of His glory,

The very Angels in His everlasting Court

Stand abashed at their own ignorance;

And Heaven itself is amazed at its own distraction:

Therefore, better for us that we, an inquisitive handful,

Should polish our mirror from the rust of curiosity,

Sink into forgetfulness of our own existence,

And seat ourselves henceforth on the knees of silence.