O monarch, a ball in the crook of thy mall The firmament round for thee be!
The compass of being and time and space An exercise-ground for thee be!
All quarters holdeth thy good report; All climes of the world hath conquered
The fame of thy goodness: a guardian true For ever its sound for thee be!
The tress of the Lady of Victory still To thy horsetail ensigns cleaveth;
The eye of success to all thy steps A lover bound for thee be!
O thou, the praise of whose pomp it is That Mercury still enditeth,
The slave of the royal privy seal All-wit profound for thee be!
Thy shape like the cypress put to shame The glory of the Touba!
The envy of heaven the courts, that ring Thy palace round, for thee be!
May beasts not only and plants and stones To thee obeisance proffer!
Nay, still at command in the world of command Whatso is found for thee be!
Sick Hafiz, in all sincerity, Thine eulogist become is;
Thy favour the leach of him, whose voice Doth praise resound for thee, be!
The compass of being and time and space An exercise-ground for thee be!
All quarters holdeth thy good report; All climes of the world hath conquered
The fame of thy goodness: a guardian true For ever its sound for thee be!
The tress of the Lady of Victory still To thy horsetail ensigns cleaveth;
The eye of success to all thy steps A lover bound for thee be!
O thou, the praise of whose pomp it is That Mercury still enditeth,
The slave of the royal privy seal All-wit profound for thee be!
Thy shape like the cypress put to shame The glory of the Touba!
The envy of heaven the courts, that ring Thy palace round, for thee be!
May beasts not only and plants and stones To thee obeisance proffer!
Nay, still at command in the world of command Whatso is found for thee be!
Sick Hafiz, in all sincerity, Thine eulogist become is;
Thy favour the leach of him, whose voice Doth praise resound for thee, be!