TO ELDER OF THE SHRINE
O Shaikh, who tend the Holy Shrine,
Discard these monkish modes of thine
Grasp what morning songs denote,
What aim or end I would promote.
May God preserve the youth you guide,
And may they all by Faith abide!
Restraint and order you must teach
To shun conceit you ought to preach.
Those who blow on glass in West,
Have taught the youth repose and rest
Let them imbibe to bear the shocks,
And cut the stones and hew the rocks.
The foreign Yoke that ran for periods long,
Has drained the blood or heart, so strong.
Think of some cure, panacea or aught
To bring to end their sight distraught.
In fits of frenzy strong and great
Of mysteries, God I start to Prate
Bestow on my distracted brain
Some recompense for this pain.