O Lord, whose secrets are for ever veiled,
And whose perfection knows not a beginning!
End and beginning both are lost in thee;
No trace of them is found in thy eternal realm.
My words are lame; my tongue, a stony tract;
Slow wings my foot, and wide is the expanse.
Confused are my thoughts; but this is thy best praise—
In ecstacy alone I see thee face to face!
SHEMS TEBREEZ:
What advice, O Musselmans? I don’t know myself; I[54] am neither Christian nor Jew, nor am I a fire-worshipper nor Musselman.
I am not from the East or West, nor am I of land or fire.
I am not from the country of Iran, nor am I from the land of Khoorassan.
I am neither of water nor air, nor am I of fire or earth.
I am not of Adam or Eve, nor am I of the inhabitants of paradise.
My place is no place, my sign is without sign:
I have neither body nor soul,—what is there then? I am the soul of my Beloved.[55]
When I took out my heart, the two worlds I saw as one. He is the first, He is the last, He is the manifest. He is the secret.
Except Him, and that I am Him, I do not know anything else.
O thou, Shems Tebreez, why this rapture in this world?
Except with rapture and enthusiastic ardour, this work cannot be effected.