To dance-hall or tavern, we come not a-sneaking;
For the right and the wrong of the world are the same.
And if you are a seeker, the blood of Hypocrisy shed;
Nor be trammeled by Shame—take a poniard and cut off her head.
For your sake we have come
In the shape of a jar from the Sea;
For your sake we have come as Disgrace.
But glory incarnate are we.
O think us not mortal, for we
Are the light on the foam of the sea.
Still higher our rank, though we come
With the flute and the drum.
In the veils of the world do we come
With the flute and the drum.
As vigilant warders we come
With the flute and the drum.
To call you to the Tavern we come
With the flute and the drum.
V
Perchance in our sleep we become unaware
Of the circumstance strange of our birth;
Perchance a hair
Divides the heaven and the earth.
But whether two worlds or a hundred, the loved One is all;
Only One do we seek, only One do we know,
Only One do we hear, do we see, do we call.
We come as the heroes and slaves of the Mighty, the Dear;
We come as the mind and the soul of the violet Sphere.
What place have your meat and your bread
Where we were first born, and first fed
Through our eye and our ear?
And now, without eyes we can see,
Without tongues we can speak,
Without ears we can hear.
And when the clouds and the storms of the Mind
Darken and shut out the skies,
We kindle the torch of the Heart,
Which we give to the mighty and wise.
For the heart is the bird of a world made holy by song;
’T is the love-lorn and love-guided bulbul the owls among.
And when it wings all exultant its way over mountain and moor,
It dreads nor the depths nor the heights nor the transcending lure.
The heart is a treasure of gold in the dust-pit of things;
’T is the rebec of love and of love forever it sings;
’T is the pearl in the sea and the phare on the shore of the Mind;
’T is the ear of the deaf and the all-seeing eye of the blind.
The heart is the maker of dreams, the alembic of power:
’T is the gate to all beauty, the key to the ivory tower;
’T is the crown of the Budha, the Christ, ’t is the sword of the Prophet;
’T the flame in the temple of faith, and of reason, the flower.
The heart is the last star that leaves in the wake of the Night,
And the first star that ushers Aurora’s pageant of light;
’T is the first and the last ray of hope, the salvation of man;
’T is our guide and our standard—the leader of our caravan.
Hearken! the voice of our leader
In the dawn’s stillness and glow:
Allahu, Allahu! We’re ready!
Sight-seeing with us, who will go?
The hour of departure is come,
The caravan ’s moving. Woh ho!
We are bound for a country of wonder,
Sight-seeing with us, who will go?
Wherever we stop on the way
Is a feast for the heart, and a show;
Everywhere, too, is a tavern,
Sight-seeing with us, who will go?
He who has led us thus far
Will lead us still further, we know:
He opens to us every gate—
Sight-seeing with us, who will go?
He is the magnet and we
Are but pieces of steel: woh ho!
Earthward the Magnet is moving!—
Sight-seeing with us, who will go?
Sweet scents from the curl of his tresses
Are a-float on the breezes that blow
From the radiant peaks of the world:—
Sight-seeing with us, who will go?
As we fix our amorous gaze
Upon him more amorous we grow:
He moves in a soul-witching maze:—
Sight-seeing with us, who will go?
Come! but come empty of purse and empty of hand;
Who travel with us shall not hunger or thirst, nor shall need;
For the stores of the Master are open in every land,
And his Stewards, the Earth and the Sun, his wishes exceed.
He is our need,
Our staff and our creed;
Of our hope and despair,
He’s the Sun and the Seed.
Come, but come empty of heart and empty of mind;
Who travel with us shall not carry a thought or a care;
For they who all things abandon, everything find,
And they who are drawn to the loved One, escape every snare.
He is our care,
Our goal and our snare;
Of our grief and our joy,
The bequeather and heir.
VI
Grape-juice must ferment in the jar,
Ere it turns into wine;
So the heart, in the jar of Desire,
To sparkle and shine.
Like the face of the mirror that ’s clear
Of image and form,
So the heart must be free e’en of shadows
To reflect the divine.
O Brothers, our words are the petals
Of the rose that eternally blooms
In the thornless rose-bush of the Soul,
Which his image assumes.
O Brothers, our word is the truth,
Our standard the guide;
No Sufis are speaking, but he
In whom all things abide.
Yea, his parrots are we, sugar-chewing
And repeating his words evermore,
While the habitants rude of the world
Camel-like thistles devour.
Sugar-chewing we come for your sake;
Awake, O ye Pilgrims, awake!
The cypress that once graced the grove,
Is a-float on the river of Love.
O Lovers, the Veil of the Secret he rends,
And like light drops of water, he gently descends.
He walks on the face of the turbulent sea,
Driving before him the waves to their lee;
Like a shepherd he calls, and his flock turned to foam,
Scurries and scampers, impatient for home.
A moment, alas! When his face is revealed,
All the wounds of the world are miraculously healed.
A moment, alas! When his light disappears,
The world is submerged in an ocean of tears.
We are the light that is spun
For the firefly and the sun;
We are
