Wrecked Landsmen shriek in Terror, though saving spars float round;
The Pilot steeped in rapture, recks not Death's Foam—O no!
Jeláleddín, thy soul in Ocean melts in joy:
Thyself all Consecration, no Novice far from Home—O no!
Renunciation
XXXVII.
Since he to me his loving Heart has shown,
I give my Life to him, as All his own.
The Body's House becomes his Temple now,
Until the Soul herself to Heav'n hath flown.