By absence the world's weary soul is torn:
To us, God's prophet, be thy mercy borne!
On both worlds to have mercy is't not Thine?
Why dost thou careless sit of those that pine?*
O moist, fresh tulip, from the dust arise!
How long, Narcissus, shall sleep hold thy eyes?
Thy head from out the shroud of Yaman* raise;
Thy face is as of life the morning rays—
Turn into day for us this doleful night,
And with thy countenance our day make bright.
An amber-scented robe around thee wind,
And on thy head a camphored turban bind.
Let from thy head fall down thy waving hair;
Round thy fair cypress' foot a shade prepare.
Of Tai'f's* skins make for thy foot a shoe,
And of our souls' ropes latchets for it, too.
Experienced men are carpets in thy street,
And would as carpets kiss thy blessèd feet.
From chamber to the holy plain thy foot be led;
Of those who kiss thy road stand on the head.
Assist thou those who low before thee lie;
To those who give their hearts with love reply.
Though in crimes' ocean we immersed are all,
Dry-lipped in dust upon thy road we fall.
'Tis well Thou art the cloud of grace, and why?
That sometimes on the thirsty thou mayst cast an eye.
Blessed we when we approach thee through thy dust,
And thy streets' dust into our eye have thrust.
Towards thy mosque we bow in grateful prayer,
And to thy lamp as moths our souls repair.
Bold wandering among thy groves we went;
Cage-like, our heart in many holes was rent.
Out of their cloud, from eyes that never slept,
On thy grove's holy threshold tears we wept.
The dust we swept at times from off that plain,
Or gathered thorns and rubbish thence again.
With that light blackness to our eyes impart,
With this we lay a plaster on our heart.
Towards Thy pulpit then we took our way,
From off our face in gold its foot to lay.*
From Thy Mehrab,* we sought our aim in prayer,
And with our eye's blood washed Thy threshold there.
We stood upright at ev'ry pillar's base,
And as the righteous prayed Thee for Thy grace.
With happy hearts, though scarred with Thy desire,
We set the candles with our hearts on fire.
Our bodies though dust of that holy plain,
Thank God, our souls may ever there remain.
Helpless am I through breath of self-conceit;
Look on my feebleness and pardon mete.
Should like Thy favour nothing us befriend,
Naught could we bring to a successful end.
Ill fate will throw us off our proper way;
For God's sake hear us when to God we pray,
Assurance of our life that He bestow,
And we in things of Faith may firmness know.
Of Judgment when the dread shall rise at last,
He fire upon our honour may not cast,
But give, though we have strayed from right indeed,
Command to thee for us to intercede;
Thy people's ball, with bowed head as a mace,
Thou mayest bring to mediation's place;
That Jámi's business, through thy favour meet,
The scoff of others, may be made complete.