Every praise is due to that Almighty Creator whose mercy has given grace and perfection to this garden of the earth. The flowers, like the loveliest brides, reflect the lustre of his beauty; what power, then, has the pen, a dry and withered reed as it is, to record his excellencies?
Each blushing rose-leaf still exhales
Those heavenly paradisal gales,
Creator, which thy power proclaim,
And make the bulbul praise thy name.
The unexpanded buds confess
Thy glory, and thy power express;
And all the loveliness of earth
From thee alone has taken birth.
The light of Layla’s[1] beauty glows