In His Praise

You, whom the soul of all souls blesses a thousand times a day: may God protect you from the evil eye. Hoping only to be honored with a kiss of your hand, the very eye of heaven has waited long for you. The horizons of the kingdom are lit by your bright judgment; greed itself grows fat while your slender pen keeps working. In the royal garden you are that delicate bud, more lovely than any other, hidden or in bloom. Wherever you have passed, for years to come the scent of good fortune rises from the dust of your road. King, whom the turning sky counts it a duty to lay each day some heart's desire in your arms, the wheel of heaven hurries because of your swift resolve; the earth lies still because of your steady wisdom. At once it girds itself like the spear in your stirrup, whenever victory shows itself in your line of battle. The brow of fortune stays green from your ruby-red blade; the enemy's life turns to poison from your snake-like lance. You are the support and shelter of a kingdom, for always good luck sits beside you and reason runs your affairs. This is the dawn of your fortune; only wait, and the tumult of your rising will trouble the mind of heaven itself. Until the world's end, the hand of heaven's scribe will date the kingdom's history from the days of your reign. The wind of victory rose from the fire of your spearhead; the dust of rebellion settled under your keen-edged sword. Your justice, which tramples tyranny, builds up faith and state; your jewel-inlaid blade is the rivet that holds kingdom and nation. Nature stands amazed at your skillful reason, and reason has fallen in love with your obliging nature. Like your sword's own scabbard, death keeps its side empty in dread of your soul-hunting blade. Heaven has been made small beside your high ambition; the sea is put to shame by your boundless giving. I saw the day-spreading sun throw itself among your servants, a hundred blades drawn in your service. The pages of the sky are one leaf from the book of your perfection; the water of life is one hint from the pearls your speech scatters. You favored your servant with every kind of honor; yes, nothing less befits your true-hearted generosity. Thanks for your bounties cannot be contained in verse; so I keep adding them to my prayers before your Maker. Enjoy your youth, and let anyone who does not love you with heart and soul, as your servant does, eat his own blood in grief. Your servant has laid his hand of service on the hem of your praise, waiting to see what your noble judgment finds fitting. Take this praise-singer under the shade of your grace, though a hundred thousand like your servant stand at your door. Your house existed before the world was founded; may your work endure to the hem of the last day. As long as the four elements exist, may these four things never for a breath be absent from your four, your nature from the joy of pleasure, your hand from rose-red wine, your ear from the minstrel's song, your eye from the beauty of your beloved. Wherever you go and come, may good fortune walk with you; wherever you settle, may prosperity be your close companion.