Continually dwelling in all mystic lore,
Continually singing the song of praise
The atoms of the world will seem to you
Drunken and heavy with wine.
. . . When you have carded self
Like the wool-carder, you will raise a cry.
Oh! take the cotton of illusion from your ears,
And hearken to the call of the One, the Almighty.
. . . Why tarry till the last day
When now, in the valley of peace,
The very bush will say to you, "I am Allah"?
Continually singing the song of praise
The atoms of the world will seem to you
Drunken and heavy with wine.
. . . When you have carded self
Like the wool-carder, you will raise a cry.
Oh! take the cotton of illusion from your ears,
And hearken to the call of the One, the Almighty.
. . . Why tarry till the last day
When now, in the valley of peace,
The very bush will say to you, "I am Allah"?