THE GUIDE OF THE AGE*

 S. M. Owais, Tr.

 (1)

Oh, Hark ! the Guide of Age is up and risen

From cloistered waste of Desert Araby!

And now from that far-off lonely wild Vale,

The Caravan starts and hastens, marches on !

(2)

So radiant in the brows of his bondsmen

The Sultan's regal refulgence I've seen,

As leaps from dust of lowly humble Ayaz,

The many-splendoured flame of great Maḥmūd!

(3)

For ages long in Ka'bah and idol-house

Life sighs and yearns to grow and find own self,

Till comes the Sage — from hallowed Hall of Love

Of God's secrets and His Purpose fully wise!

(4)

For inmost chord of God's own high Heavens

A melody fresh, a strain all new is vouched.

By soulful sighs when they in harmony rise

From hearts in tune with God, in submission couched.

(5)

Ah, take this lyre, my friend, from palsied hand!

No music-maker now ! Nor music in refrain !

To flowing stream of blood is turned my strain,

And now bursting gushes forth from lyre's stringed veins.