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THE QUATRAINS OF
240.
Heaven multiplies our sorrows day by day,
And grants no joys it does not take away;
If those unborn could know the ills we bear,
What think you, would they rather come or stay?
241.
Why ponder thus the future to foresee,
And jade thy brain to vain perplexity?
Cast off thy care, leave Allah's plans to him,
He formed them all without consulting thee.
242.
The tenants of the tombs to dust decay,
Nescient of self, and all beside are they;
Their sundered atoms float about the world.
Like mirage clouds, until the judgment-day.
240. C. L. N. A. I. J. This recalls Byron's, "Stanzas for Music."
241. C. L. N. A. I. J.
