X: When He, of His omnipotence, first the pen…

When He, of His omnipotence, first the pen produced,
The destiny of every one, He then with its tongue wrote down.

To-day, at every respiration, that allotment arriveth--
To the share of some, He joy assigned; to the lot of others, grief.

By strife and contention now, he cannot great become,
Who, from all eternity, was entered in an inferior degree.

Thro' the hatred of the envious, never can become crooked--
The lot of him, which, in the beginning, He made straight.

When doth death seize the skirt of any one, out of season?
Yet they will not tarry a moment, whose time is fulfilled.

The will of destiny ejected him from the abode of bliss;
And then it charged unfortunate Adam with the sin.

At the wounds of fortune, O SEPARATED! do not sigh;
For God hath, for the stricken, prepared a wondrous salve!