In Praise of the Same Patron

Lord of fortune, chief minister and pillar of the realm: you whose every thought turns out to be the right one. My master, from the beginning binding fate itself set your being above all the world's reckoning. You are the chief for whom, with each breath from the dust of your door, the heavens open a thousand gates of triumph and victory. Whoever bows his neck in obedience to your command, fate names him a king and master of men. But whoever does not settle at your threshold like a doorstep, the flood of ruin wrecks the house of his life. Cruelty and turmoil turned their reins away from the world at once, as soon as the fame of your justice and generosity set foot in the stirrup. Every high office left behind by Asaf and Jamshid, your arm won by sword and pen. The sword that splits your enemy, what a jewel it must be, that on the day of battle it stirs a whole sea of dread. What miracle is its stroke, that scatters heads to the wind; what fire is its lightning, that roasts men's souls. Whoever came before you with a request, your pen, out of kindness, answered him with a gift. O king, the sudden rising of the lucky star that, like triumph and victory, turned toward your exalted presence, when your moon showed its lovely face, it was like the sun's disk shifting into the sign of Aries. The very moment it resolved to appear in the kingdom, fortune galloped ahead of it on a double mount. So that the hand of the age might scatter its gifts over his head, it filled the casket of the sky with lustrous pearls. The sun's worth rose high by sharing his name, so heaven's spirit offered the sun its congratulations. May he prosper forever in your shadow, for good fortune already made him blessed from the start. May your rule and your life last forever, and this prayer God, in His grace and mercy, has granted.