Jeláleddín

Highest Love, where thou art thronèd, here before Thy Throne unseen,
O let me pour my Melodies, my sweetest, highest yet, I ween.
If well-pleasing they ascending reach Thine ear in tones of power,
All their work of soul-subduing comes from Thy own soul serene.
Let them hymn and let them praise thee: let them cry and supplicate:
Where is he to Earth descended, Star from out thy Glory's Sheen?
He his Head with thy soft Roses wreathed, and struck the charmèd String,
Till drunk with Love he passed sweet playing to the Light no cloud
can screen.
He beclad in Garments waving here on broken Pillar leaned,
Pouring Songs by which upwafted he hath left this lower Scene.
Hath he now flown to Thy Bosom? Tell me, Love, who here below
Didst his Soul so sweetly cherish, where still cherished hath he been?—
Where the Peoples sink their Banners, where Pride lays her Signs aside,
All their Caste Distinctions blending, where eternal Peace is Queen.
There among the Saints, the purest, of all Zones, is he now found:
Hail! All hail his Memory holy: MAULĀNĀ JELÁL-ED-DÍN!