Showing that the purpose of the Muslim's life is to exalt the word of Allah, and that the jihad (war against unbelievers), if it be prompted by land hunger, is unlawful in the religion of Islam

thine heart With the tincture of Allah,
Give honour and glory to Love!
The Muslim's nature prevails by means of love:
The Muslim, if he be not loving, is an infidel.
Upon God depends his seeing and not-seeing,
His eating, drinking, and sleeping.
In his will that which God wills becomes lost–
“How small a man believe this saying?”
He encamps in the field of “There is no god but Allah;”
In the world he is a witness to mankind.
His high estate is attested by the Prophet who was sent to men and Jinn—
The most truthful of witnesses.
Leave words and seek that spiritual state,
Shed the light of God o'er the darkness of thy deeds!
Albeit clad in kingly robe, live as a dervish,
Live wakeful and meditating on God!
Whatever thou dost, let it be thine aim therein to draw nigh to God,
That his glory may be made manifest by thee.
Peace becomes an evil, if its object be aught else;
War is good if its object is God.
If God be not exalted by our swords,
War dishonours the people.
The holy Shaykh Miyan Mir Wali,
By the light of whose soul every hidden thing was revealed –
His feet were firmly planted on the path of Muhammad,
He was a flute for the impassioned music of love.
His tomb keeps our city safe from harm
And causes the beams of true religion to shine on us.
Heaven stooped its brow to his threshold,
The Emperor of India was one of his disciples.
Now, this monarch had sown the seed of ambition in his heart
And was resolved on conquest.
The flames of vain desire were alight in him,
He was teaching his sword to ask, “Is there any more?”
In the Deccan was a great noise of war,
His army stood on the battle field.
He went to the Shaykh of heaven‑high dignity
That he might receive his blessing:
The Muslim turns from this world to God
And strengthens policy with prayer.
The Shaykh made no answer to the Emperor's speech,
The assembly of dervishes was all ears,
Until a disciple, in his hand a silver coin,
Opened his lips and broke the silence‑,
Saying, “Accept this poor offering from me,
O guide of them that have lost the way to God!
My limbs were bathed in sweat of labour
Before I put away a dirhem in my skirt.”
The Shaykh said: “This money ought to be given to our Sultan,
Who is a beggar wearing the raiment of a king.
Though he holds sway over sun, moon and stars,
Our Emperor is the most penniless of mankind.
His eye is fixed on the table of strangers,
The fire of his hunger hath consumed a whole world.
His sword is followed by famine and plague,
His building lays wide land waste.
The folk are crying out because of his indigence,
His empty handedness causes him to plunder the weak.
His power is an enemy to all:
Humankind are the caravan and he the brigand.
In his self‑delusion and ignorance
He calls pillage by the name of empire.
Both the royal troops and those of the enemy
Are cloven in twain by the sword of his hunger.
The beggar's hunger consumes his own soul,
But the Sultan's hunger destroys state and religion.
Whoso shall draw the sword for anything except Allah,
His sword is sheathed in his own breast.”