The branches of the Divine Lote-Tree lie broken by the onrushing gales of
destiny: Where are the banners of Thy succor, O Champion of the worlds?
This Face is hidden in the dust of slander: Where are the breezes of Thy
compassion, O Mercy of the worlds?
The robe of sanctity is sullied by the people of deceit: Where is the
vesture of Thy holiness, O Adorner of the worlds?
The sea of grace is stilled for what the hands of men have wrought: Where
are the waves of Thy bounty, O Desire of the worlds?
The door leading to the Divine Presence is locked through the tyranny of
Thy foes: Where is the key of Thy bestowal, O Unlocker of the worlds?
The leaves are yellowed by the poisoning winds of sedition: Where is the
downpour of the clouds of Thy bounty, O Giver of the worlds?
The universe is darkened with the dust of sin: Where are the breezes of
Thy forgiveness, O Forgiver of the worlds?
This Youth is lonely in a desolate land: Where is the rain of Thy heavenly
grace, O Bestower of the worlds?
O Supreme Pen, We have heard Thy most sweet call in the eternal realm:
Give Thou ear unto what the Tongue of Grandeur uttereth, O Wronged One of
the worlds!
Were it not for the cold, how would the heat of Thy words prevail, O
Expounder of the worlds?
Were it not for calamity, how would the sun of Thy patience shine, O Light
of the worlds?
Lament not because of the wicked.
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