Our natural bent is to simple faith; the splen-
dours of dialectic can never find a place with
us. The mother knows all her child’s ways; she
never lets it irritate her; she puts it to her breast.
O Merciful One! You may assume any shape;
but I must not let anything pollute my mind; I
must not take pleasure in anything save Thy wor-
ship. Let me dream of Thy form, and utter thy
name with my lips, says Tuka, whether my eyes
are set on men, or on things liquid or solid.
dours of dialectic can never find a place with
us. The mother knows all her child’s ways; she
never lets it irritate her; she puts it to her breast.
O Merciful One! You may assume any shape;
but I must not let anything pollute my mind; I
must not take pleasure in anything save Thy wor-
ship. Let me dream of Thy form, and utter thy
name with my lips, says Tuka, whether my eyes
are set on men, or on things liquid or solid.