That true solidarity consists in adopting a fixed communal objective, and that the objective of the Muhammadan community is the preservation and propagation of Unitarianism

And now I will impart to thee the tongue Of all things that have being; in this speech The letters and articulated sounds Are life’s activities.

When life is bound In firm attachment to an aim professed The opening verse rises spontaneously;

And if that purpose serves us for a goad, Swift as the tempest gallopeth our steed.

The goal avowed is the true mystery Of life’s cntinuance, that focuses The restless flow of its mercurial powers.

When life is conscious of a purposed aim, All means material yield to its control;

It makes its self the follower of that goal, For its sole sake collects, selects, rejects.

The helmsman shoreward bound resolves to sail The flooding main; the destination far Determines the selection of the paths.

The moth’s heart bears the brand of the delight Of burning, for which joy it flutters still About the candle.

If the madman Qais Was wanderer in the wilderness, his aim Was the high litter wherein Layla rode.

Now be our Layla but familiar With cities, never shall we lift our tread To span the desert.

In the enterprise The purpose lies as hidden as the soul Within the body, and from this alone Each labour takes its quality and size.

The blood that circulateth in our veins The nimbler moveth, having the desire To reach a goal;

life’s self consumes itself In that bright flame, aglow with tulip-fire.

The Goal is as a plectrum, that awakes The hidden music in the instrument Of high ambition, an attractive point Whereunto moves all centripetal force;

This stirs a people’s hands and feet to move In vital unison, one vision clear Bestowing on a hundred several sights.

Be the mad lover of the loveliness Of noble purpose; flutter like a moth About this ardent lamp.

Sweet was the air Qum’s music-maker sang, the silken strings Sweeping responsive to his pulsing thought:

“While yet the traveller bends to pluck the thorn That pricks his foot, the litter vanishes.”

If thou art heedless but for one brief breath, A hundred leagues thou strayest from thy stage.

This ancient creature, that men call the world, Out of the mingling of the elements Derived its body;

a hundred reed-beds sowed That one lament might burgeon; bathed in blood A hundred meads, to yield one tulip-bloom.

Many the shapes it fetched and cast and broke To grave upon Life’s tablet thy design;

Many laments it sowed in the soul’s tilth Till sprang the music of one call to prayer

Awhile it battled sternly with the free, And had much traffic with false lords,

at last To strew the seed of faith in the heart’s soil And on the tongue to cry There is one God.

No other god but God – this is the point On which the world concentrically turns, This the conclusion of the world’s affairs.

From this the sphere derives its strength to wheel, The sun its constancy and brilliance

The sea her gems, created of its glow, That set the ocean’s billows quivering.

This is the breeze that fans the earth to bloom, This rapturous glow a few poor feathers flames Into the nightingale;

and this same fire Runs like a torch along the vineyard’s veins And glitters crimson in the dusty bowl.

In Being’s instrument its melodies Life hidden; O musician, Being’s lute Seeketh for thee;

within thy body flow A hundred songs, as freely in thy veins The lifeblood pulses; rise, and smite the strings!

Allahu Akbar! This the secret holds Of thy existence; wherefore let it be Thy purpose to preserve and propagate No other god.

If thou a Muslim art, Till all the world proclaims the Name of God Thou canst not rest one moment

Knowest thou not The verse in Holy Scripture, calling thee To be a people just, God’s witnesses?

Thou art the glow and glory of the days, And made to testify to all mankind; To all who comprehend the weight of words

Make general proclamation, and impart The learned gospel of God’s Messenger.

Unlettered was He, innocent of guile The words he uttered, that elucidate The mystery He did not go astray.

Yet, when he held the pulse of living things, The secrets of Life’s constitution he Forthwith revealed,

and cleansed of ancient blight The garment of the tulips of this mead.

Life here below is bound up with his Faith Nor can survive, save guarded by his Law.

Having his Book beneath thy arm, stride out With greater boldness to the battlefield Of works;

for human thought, idolatrous And idol-fashioning, is all the time In quest of some new image

in these days It follows once again old Azar’s trade, And man creates an ever novel god

Whose joy is shedding blood, whose hallowed name Is Colour, Fatherland, Blood-Brotherhood.

Humanity is slaughtered like a sheep Before this worthless idol.

Thou, whose lips Have touched the sacred bowl of Abraham, Whose blood is ardent with his holy wine,

Against this falsehood, garmented as truth, Lift now the blade there is not aught but God And smite!

The days are shrouded all in mirk; Display thy light, and let the thing in thee Perfected shine o’er all humanity.

I tremble for thy shame, when on the Day Of Reckoning that Glory of all time Shall question thee:

Thou tookest from my lips The word of Truth, and wherefore hast thou failed To pass my message on to other men?”