That the Lady Fatima is the perfect pattern of Muslim womanhood

Mary is hallowed in one line alone, That she bore Jesus; Fatima in three.

For that she was the sweet delight of him Who came a mercy to all living things, Leader of former as of latter saints,

Who breathed new spirit into this dead world And brought to birth the age of a New Law.

His lady she, whose regal diadem God’s words adorn Hath there come any time, The chosen one, resolver of all knots And hard perplexities, the Lion of God,

An emperor whose palace was a hut, Accoutred with one sword, one coat of mail.

And she his mother, upon whom revolves Love’s compasses, the leader of Love’s train,

That single candle in the corridor Of sanctity resplendent, guardian Of the integrity of that best race Of all God’s peoples;

who, that the fierce flame Of war and hatred might extinguished be, Trod underfoot the crown and royal ring.

His mother too, the lord of all earth’s saints And strong right arm of every freeborn man,

Husain, the passion in the song of life, Teacher of freedom to God’s chosen few.

The character, the essential purity Of holy children from their mothers come.

She was the harvest of the well-sown field Of self-surrender, to all mothers she The perfect pattern, Fatima the chaste.

Her heart so grieved, because one came in need, She stripped her cloak and sold it to a Jew;

Though creatures all, of light alike and fire, Obeyed her bidding, yet she sank her will In her good consort’s pleasure.

Fortitude And meekness were her schooling; while her lips Chanted the Book, she ground the homely mill

No pillow needed she to catch her tears, But wept contrition’s offering of pearls Upon the skirt of prayer;

which Gabriel stooped To gather, as they glistened in the dust, And rained like dew upon the Throne of God.

God’s Law a fetter locks about my feet To guard secure the Prophet’s high behest,

Else had I surely gone about her tomb And fallen prostrate, worshipping her dust.