Toward the One, the Perfection of Love, Harmony, and Beauty,
the Only Being, United with All the Illuminated Souls
Who Form the Embodiment of the Master, the Spirit of Guidance.

Mukti

O the silence and the beauty by the great white Throne,
And a whisper in the firmament that leads the erring home,
And a tale marvelous wonder, and a heart awakening,
And deliverance from all sorrow by the Universal King.

And a tear that tells our history and a sob that connotes all,
And a cry that rends our bosom when we hear the call,
And a laugh so full of merriment, and a hidden sigh,
And a secret now discovered by a watchful eye.

But a God of Peace and Mercy that relieves our pain,
And a God of Strength and Majesty that sets us right again,
And a God cements a Union, made in realms above,
And an All-embracing Paradise of sempiternal love.

Now we come out of a picture and we live aright,
When the darkness of misgiving has been lost in light,
And the Christ that bore our suffering has touched our soul,
And the resurrected Jesus makes us once more whole.

The procession of God’s Messengers from East and West,
And the touch of angel fingers, who, through God, have blessed,
And a seal upon our lips that makes us hide our story,
So we may walk through deepest Hell amid God’s glory.

Naidine Fifteen

Indian Summer delight,
Eyes with refulgent light,
Naidine, sweet Naidine, fifteen.
Hair of golden brown,
Skin like silky down,
And lips that seem to say:
“Love has come, has come to say.”
Naidine, sweet Naidine, fifteen.

Heart that does not ask,
Finding joy in every task,
Naidine, sweet Naidine, fifteen.
Fingers that always impart
Secrets from the heart,
And a restful atmosphere
For those you hold dear.
Naidine, sweet Naidine, fifteen.

Fragrance of joy’s garden,
May honeyed happiness
Mark your every pathway.
These words require no pardon,
I willingly confess
My feelings as I say,
“Naidine, sweet Naidine, fifteen.”

Breath of beauty’s bower,
Like a heavenly flower,
Naidine, sweet Naidine, fifteen.
And as the years go onward,
Never, dear, look downward,
But hold your grace and duty,
As if a solemn duty.
Naidine, sweet Naidine, fifteen.

Passion

A lonely hill on Friday eve,
And He
In agony.
They did not believe,
They could not conceive
He would endure
The fierce torture.
But He
Suffered not in misery;
For His heart filled with Love,
And with radiant eyes,
He prayed to the Father in Paradise:
“Father, forgive them, for what they do,
Before the hour when I return to you.”
He muttered, “I thirst,”
Then His bonds were burst,
In unsurpassed superliminity,
Realizing His Divinity.
On Friday eve,
Two thousand years ago.
Yet now we do not know,
We cannot conceive
He died for you and me.
Ah! would our eyes were open that we might see.

Poplar

Stalwart and stately, pride of the ancients,
Guardian of the portals of death,
Majesty and mighty to meet the fierce storm-wind,
Turning its fury to a gentle breath.

Towering fingers, all pointing upward,
In the calm twilight, becoming dim,
Radiantly royal in Spring and in Summer,
But on dark Winter nights, gruesome and grim.

Tell us your secret, ye silent wonder,
Secrets of poison and murder and hate
Romance and parties held in your gardens,
Mysterious missions, and errands of state.

Once came a maiden meeting her lover,
Ready for wooing, and making their pledge,
Then came a dagger, swift to his bosom,
For his hated rival was hid in a hedge.

Then a condottieri, waiting a messenger,
Ready to serve a neighboring count,
A poisoned potion, a corpse neath your branches,
Blood on the walk, more blood in the fount.

Warriors, merchants, high dignitaries,
Monks who were saintly, others quite sly,
You watched them come, you saw them departing,
You saw babes born, and older folks die.

Hid in your bosom, rings in your great trunk,
History is written, great or small deed
Is fixed on your consciousness, then in your being,
Who can decipher it? How can one read?

Come, oh great poplar, weave a new pattern,
Set up your mansions around a great park,
Embellish the morning with a musical greeting,
Reveal your nobility when it is dark.

Rauzat-Us-Safa

Of Allah I sing, and the perfection of His creation,
First conceived in the purity of the sleep of Infinitude,
Before there was time, before there was space, before there was separation,
When the All-in-All was All and Naught existed save Ho.
Then from His Supreme Throne the Light appeared,
And the Light upon Light playing and dancing in joy,
The whole universe came into being,
Mountains and mountains of planes and kingdoms and creatures,
Until the earth was born, born from the darkness into light,
The hardness defying, the love compelling,
A perfect play of Creator and creation until the creation became perfected,
And a man was born, born in the midst of the gloom,
Destined to turn the worthless into treasure,
Mohammed ibn Abdullah al-Makki.

Resurrection

Out of the manger, out of the womb
Out of the garden, onto the tree,
Down from the cross and into the tomb,
Out of the tomb, evermore to be free.

Out of fierce hatred into kind Love,
Out of the Temple into the World,
Out of humanity risen above,
Through all the Heavens His Message unfurled.

Out of the body, absorbed in space,
Out of time’s yoke to Eternity,
Out of one people to every race,
Freed from all limits to Infinity.

Rise! Oh Man!

Rise! oh man! Come out of the shadows
And bask in the sunshine that springs from thy heart!
Dismal, and dark was the night long and dreary,
Lo, day is here! it will blessings impart.

Come, oh man, and bathe in the fountain,
The well of pure truth that lies deep in thy heart!
Refreshed from thy labors then go on thy journey.
The Message of God to this world then impart.

Look! oh look down into that mirror.
The crystalline cover o’erlaying thy heart,
Cleanse and polish and brighten its surface.
That light may shine through and darkness depart.

Live ! oh man, oh live in that Ocean!
The Ocean of Life whose gate is the heart.
God is the ocean and ye are all the fished
In the one Great Fish, who is found in thy heart.

Rest! oh rest from the labors of Silence!
Only list to the voice that comes from the heart.
So wilt thou come to the day of thy merging.
Become the Great Whole, no longer a part.

Alpha, Omega, beginning and ending,
The key to them all is found in thy heart,
From God thou comets, to Him thou returnest.
Yet ever in Him, thou dwellest and art.

Roehrich

O Broblinagian master-mind,
In fields transcendent you would find
Those noble subjects form your arts:
The deeper mysteries of the heart.

Beyond the highest mountain peak,
You play your game of hide-and-seek,
Steep cliffs are scaled and ridges crossed,
In your hunt for relics, ages lost.

On Himalaya’s mighty heights,
You sketch majestic, Faustian sights,
Revealing also on your screen,
Impressions from the world unseen.

Bibles in color we behold,
Unuttered prophecies we are told,
The Treasures of Heaven at our feet,
And wondrous gems from Wisdom’s seat.

Sleeping dragons you’ve revived,
And ancient myths revivified;
Fairies and Devas you restore,
And they live again, as they did of yore.

The universe before our eyes,
Bright Indra’s gardens in the skies,
And Yama’s caves in deepest hell,
Cast on your works their magic spell.

From every land you take your themes,
From subtler planes your nobler schemes,
And hidden light is manifest
In Banners oft the East and West.

Beyond you see the common good,
The basis for world brotherhood,
The Universe a perfect whole,
And there is no thing without a soul.

Prometheus unbound and free,
Securing for humanity
A flambeau from that arcane fire
Which is the soul’s deepest desire.

Columbus, thou, of beauty’s realm;
Continue, master, at the helm,
And from imaginations sphere,
Return with precious cargoes here.

Seek God

Om my son, my boy, my child,
Seek God, seek God, seek God;
Be not while on this earth defiled,
Seek God, seek God, seek God.

I came to earth with but one aim:
Seek God, seek God, seek God;
Transcending since all form and nose;
Seek God, seek God, seek God.

No human tongue can tell you why,
Seek God, seek God, seek God;
But in your heart, not in the sky
Seek God, seek God, seek God.

This hidden tale is never told,
Seek God, seek God, seek God;,
Save in bright words of burnished gold,
Seek God, seek God, seek God.

That which is the finest wealth
You’ll find, seek God, seek God;
Beyond the prison of the self
Seek God, seek God, seek God.

On earth, in heaven, above, below
Seek God, seek God, seek God;
No other thought or love I know:
Seek God, seek God, seek God.

In time and in eternity
Seek God, seek God, seek God;,
Perceiving Him, you will find me,
Seek God, seek God, seek God.

O be thou blessed in Royal Quest,
Seek God, seek God, seek God;
From burdens He will give you rest,
Seek God, seek God, seek God.

Selection from The Garden of Purity

Of old were the prophets, and a long long line
Of God-intoxicated souls frequented the soils of Araby,
Scions of Abraham, sired by Jacob and Ishmael and their king,
Filled with the light of God, stirred by the Word of God,
Whose lips would shout aloud or cry in pain,
Exhorting, beseeching, inveighing, warning,
Seeking to turn the hearts of men to the true Redeemer,
Striving to preserve that Law upon which the world was founded.
Once they came in marked procession, following each other,
Failed or succeeded before the public view,
But leaving a trail of holiness behind them;
So their very words and memories were affirmed,
And through the ages their influence has spread,
Even to the uttermost ends of the visible world.

The Great Synagogue was gone, the Oracle was hushed,
And the word of them Lord went out no longer from Jerusalem—
The Hebrew and the Nazarene lapsed into endless arguments,
Substituting vain theologies for Eternal Truths,
Damning each other instead of praising God,
Seeking external heresies rather than inner sanctity,
And losing in the twilight the brilliance of ancient ages.
But in the silences of the desert watched and waited
Those who knew the God of Silence and of Truth,
Who taught the mysteries to their few disciples,
Carrying the burden of holiness from age to age—
The line of prophets was gone, the spirit of prophecy dim,
And one alone was left to carry the torch—and that a woman!
 But what a woman! Khadija, daughter of Khoilad,
Who carried the Light, the Secret and the Truth,
Seeking-for one whom God would bless with holiness.
Seeking, seeking, seeking, north and south, and east and west,
Veiling her mission in costly caravans,
Carrying pearls and frankincense and myrrh
And wheat and corn and barley and other merchandise,
Finding material recompense beyond her needs,
But always hoping to find in the road or market-place
The man whom God had sent, whom she must find.
She had passed the gates of maidenhood and marriage,
But the adornment of comeliness remain,
More like a houri than a woman, she did not age,
She could not age who lived in God for God.

When in middle life she paused in Mecca,
There where she sought the least she saw the signs:
The veil of light upon his noble shoulders,
The shadow of light across his simple heart,
The marks of light in the aura around his body,
Shrouding his earthly being, yet pointing toward Perfection.
As yet he knew it not, being overmodest,
But Khadija saw not Mohammed ibn Abdullah ibn Abd-ul Muttalleb—
Rather the Praised One, the expected One, the Comforter,
Prophesied and foretold in many tradition and record,
Who, still asleep, carried in his dreams the Message of God.