O seller of patience, sell me quintals today,For I have come with all I bear away;
Take from my grief whatever I have brought,A dirham's patience meets a quintal's thought;
Be not reluctant in what thou shalt claim,My wage—for patient now my heart became;
I wept for worldly life and all its woe,My tears ran rivers on the earth below;
Patience is sold—yet who will sell to usThe secrets that time hoards in silence thus?
O ye of humankind, have mercy—HeWho made us willed no harm on earth to be;
Yet we afflict ourselves through bigotry,And through ambitions—neighbour, family;
If thou behold'st a mourner wounded soreBy fellow men—be helper, giving more;
Strive not with words that gash the grieving breast,The sad one's wound makes tears flow without rest;
Ask God to grant him patience if thou canstNot bring what quenches fire by contrast;
Tell him despair not—bear it—pardon seek,Then find excuse for all the mild and meek;
If thou behold'st a wretch astray in care,Give counsel kindly—warn not in despair;
Perchance a rusted coin regains its gleam,However harsh time treats the human scheme;
Hardship is followed by relief's sweet rain,Our state is flux—now ease, now toil and pain;
O seller of patience, sell me all thy store,And add quintals—if thou hast yet one more!!
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