On the border of Syria a famed man of God,
Apart from the world, made a cave his abode.
Resigned in that corner—a gloomy retreat—
On Contentment's rich treasure, he planted his feet.
The notables laid their proud heads at his door,
For inside their portals his head did not soar.
The fair-dealing hermit has this in his eye,
That in beggary, greed from his spirit may fly.
When his breath ev'ry moment says—“ Give me, in haste!" They direct him from village to village disgraced.
In the land where this prudent recluse had his cell,
A tyrannical governor happened to dwell;
Who by violence twisted the fingers behind,
Of all the poor men he was able to find.
A tyrant unmerciful, void of all fear;
By his harshness a world's faces frowning appear.
A multitude fled from that outrage and shame,
And disclosed to the world his iniquitous name.
A number, heart-wounded and wretched, remained,
And in rear of their spinning-wheels, curses they rained.
In the place where the hand of Oppression goes far,
You behold not men's lips, from their laughing, ajar.
To see the old Saint, oft the chief would repair;
But the Pietest looked as if no one were there.
The chief once addressed him—“Oh favoured by Fate!
Do not harden your face on account of your hate!
That it is my design to befriend you, you know;
On my account, therefore, why enmity show?
I do not presume to be chief in the land,
But in honour, not less than the Dervish I stand.
To be ranked above others I do not lay claim;
As to others you are, unto me, be the same!"
The intelligent worshipper heard this remark;
He was angry and answered, “Oh governor, hark !
By your presence, distress to the people extends;
I reckon not scourges of people my friends.
You are hostile to those who are friendly to me;
That you are my friend, I'm unable to see.
Supposing I did on you friendship bestow;
What then? Since by God you are counted a foe!"
If from one of God's chosen the skin they should rend,
The enemy will not be friend of the Friend.
I'm amazed how that hard-hearted person can sleep,
Since a city through him lies in misery deep.
If virtue and wisdom and sense in you dwell,
Be ready in liberal acts to excel !
(ON OPPRESSING THE WEAK).
Oh tyrant! from crushing the helpless refrain !
For the world in one mode does not always remain.
The fingers of one who is weak, do not twist!
For should he prevail, you will cease to exist.
Degrade not a man from his rank, I repeat!
For weak you will be, if you fall from your seat.
The hearts of friends, happy, are better than gold,
And a treasury, empty, than men in Grief's hold.
With another's affairs do not meddle at all!
For it may be that, oft, at his feet you will fall.
Oh weak one! be patient with one who is strong!
For you may be more powerful than he is ere long.
Bring destruction by pray'r from the tyrannous wight!
For pray'r's arm is better than hands that have might.
Bid not smile, the dry lips of the people oppressed!
For the tyrant's foul fangs from their sockets they'll wrest.
At the sound of the drum the rich man woke, at last ;
Does he know how the night of the watchman has passed?
The traveller shows for his own load concern;
For his ass's galled back, his hard heart does not yearn.
I admit you are none of the down-fallen band;
When you see one has fallen why impotent stand?
On this topic I'll tell you a story I know;
For to pass from the subject would negligence show.
(ON KINDNESS TO THE POOR WHEN YOU HAVE PLENTY).
Such a famine, one year, in Damascus arose,
That friends passed each other, as if they were foes.
The sky had so miserly been to the ground,
That moisture on fields or on palms was not found.
The fountains, that long had existed, were dry;
No water, save that in the orphan boy's eye.
If smoke from a chimney arose to the sky,
It was only the poor widow woman's sad sigh.
I saw that the trees, like the poor, were stripped bare ;
That the strong armed were weak and in wretched despair.
The hills showed no verdure, the gardens no shoots;
The locusts ate gardens, and men ate those brutes.
I met an old friend, in this season of moans;
His body had shrivelled to skin and to bones.
I was greatly surprised, for his means were not small;
He had rank, and had money, and stores at his call.
I said :-"Oh companion! of character pure,
Explain the affliction you have to endure !"
He roared at me, saying, "Oh where is your sense?
When you know and you ask, you commit an offence.
Don't you see that affliction has reached to excess;
That no bounds can restrict the amount of distress.
From the heav'ns there descends not a shower of rain;
Not a sigh goes aloft from the poor who complain."
I replied: "You at least have no reason to fear-
The poison destroys when no antidote's near-
If another through want has been vanquished by death,
You have food; does the duck heed the hurricane's breath?"
The holy man gave me a look, full of pain;
Like the look of the wise on the ignorant swain;
Saying, "Friend! though a man the sea-shore may have found,
He does not rejoice, when his comrades are drowned.
Not from absence of means has my face become pale;
Concern for the starving has made my heart quail.
I do not desire that a wise man should scan
A wound on his limbs, or the limbs of a man.
And praise be to God; though from wounds I am free,
My body still shakes, if a wound I should see.
Imbittered's the joy of a man who is well,
Who alongside a paralyzed patient must dwell.
When I see the necessitous poor go unfed,
On my palate, like poison and dregs is my bread.
If you carry one's friends to a dungeon and chains,
What pleasure for him in the garden remains ? "
The sighs of the people one night raised a fire;
Half Baghdad, I have heard, was consumed in its ire.
A person gave thanks, midst the smoke and the dust,
Saying, "Harm has not come to my shop from the gust."
A man of experience said: "Mine of disgrace!
In you, not a grief but for self, has a place.
That a town should be burned up by fire, you delight,
Although at the border there wanders a blight."
Who his stomach would stuff but the heartless, alone,
When he sees others' stomachs compressed with a stone?1
Will the rich man himself eat that morsel, so sweet,
When he sees that the poor their own blood have to eat?
Do not say that the sick nurse is hearty and whole:
For he twists like a patient, from anguish of soul.
When the friends of "Kind Heart" the wished restingplace find,
He sleeps not, for others are struggling behind.
The hearts of good kings become burdened, alas!
When they see in the quagmire the thorn-bearing ass.
If a man in Felicity's mansion reside,
One letter from Sádi suffices to guide.
It suffices for you, if observance you show
"You cannot reap jasmines if briars you sow."
1 It was the custom for poor people to tie a stone on the stomach to relieve the pangs of hunger.
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