English
In Praise of God's Oneness
Who could ever count the grace of God?
And who has given thanks for even one gift in a thousand?
That eternal Maker who, across the carpet of creation,
painted so many thousand shapes in every color.
He made the sky's design and the rising of the stars
to give a lesson to the watchful eye.
He created the sea, the land, the trees, and humankind,
the sun and moon and stars, the night and day.
So many kinds of blessing no thanks can repay,
so many means of comfort no counting can measure.
Signs of mercy that fill the whole world over,
burdens of favor the heavens bear on their shoulders.
From dry wood He drew fruit, in the reed He placed sugar,
and from a single drop He formed royal pearls.
He drove the mountains like nails into the sheet of earth,
so the floor of soil would stand firm above the water.
The particles of dead earth, by the touch of the sun,
He turned into orchards of fruit, meadows, and fields of tulips.
This water gave drink to the thirsty roots of trees
and dressed bare branches in the robe of spring.
He created so many thousand lovely scenes,
but who is there who looked at them with real reflection?
Not only the children of Adam proclaim His oneness;
so does every nightingale that sings upon a branch.
For which favor could anyone give proper thanks?
Whoever pondered this was left bewildered.
Tell me, which one? The soul He breathed into the body,
or the precious mind He paired with the soul?
The tongue of praise falls mute in the mouth of eloquence
before the fullness of the kindness He gave, hidden and open alike.
What is a head worth, that we should lay it on the ground before Him?
Even the soul would not be too much to offer on His path.
A Giver whose past grace and mercy
has made us hopeful of a good end.
Be devout, for the Judge of the heavens
made paradise the dwelling of the devout.
No treasure is won without enduring hardship;
only the one who worked, dear brother, took the wage.
Whoever did no deeds and yet hoped for reward,
the fool planted no seed and waited for a harvest.
This world, which the Prophet called a bridge to the next,
is no place to settle; you must pass on across it.
The house of lasting rest is the human's eternal home;
this is a place to leave, not a place to stay.
How many bones the mortar of turning time
has ground so fine it scattered them to dust.
The tyrant died, and his ugly ways remained;
the just one passed, and left a good name behind.
Jesus withdrew in solitude from all the world,
and his Beloved held the heart's desire in His embrace.
Korah abandoned faith, and the world did not stay with him;
it was a cheap game, like a mouse hunting.
Let us put our trust in the grace of the One who helps,
for leaning on the borrowed is leaning on the wind.
After God, whatever people worship is nothing;
luckless is the one who chose nothing over everything.
This is fortune's ball, and no one carries it off the field
except the one whom fate favored from the very beginning.
Poor human, what can he do with effort and toil,
when all that must be, destiny has already decreed?
He created king and servant, the good and the bad;
He made some wretched, some fortunate, some honored, some despised.
Every breath that Saadi drew, like the dawn,
spread out across the wide earth like morning light.
Every servant on whose name the seal of fortune rests
hung Saadi's counsel like an earring in the ear of his heart.
Every poet who praised the kings of the land
rose high and hoped for lofty fortune.
So it is fitting that Saadi should ask for a still greater robe of honor,
for he gave thanks for the blessings of the Lord.