62
Al-Mumît
He quickeneth, but “He killeth:” blessed they
Who may abide in trust that final day!
Yea! some have found right good to hear the summons of their Lord,
And gone as glad as warriors proud, who take up spear and sword
At sounding of the song of fight; as light of heart as those
For whom the bride unveileth her mouth of pearl and rose.
Jelalu-'d-'Din, Er-Rumi, the saint of Balkh, the son
Of him surnamed “Flower of the Faith,” this was a chosen one,
To whom Death softly showed himself, Heaven's gentle call to give;
For what word is it bids us die, save that which made us live?
Sick lay he there in Konya; 'twas dawn; the golden stream
Of light, new springing in the east, on his thin lips did gleam—
Those lips which spake the praise of God all through his holy years,
And murmured now, with faith and hope unchanged, the morning prayers.
Then one who watched beside his bed, heard at the inner gate
A voice cry, “Aftah! ‘open!’ from far I come, and wait
To speak my message to Jelâl—a message that will bring
Peace and reward to him who lies the Fâtihah murmuring.”
Thereat the watcher drew the bar which closed the chamber-door,
Wondering and 'feared, for ne'er was heard upon this earth before
Accents so sweet and comforting, nor ever eyes of men
Saw presence so majestical as his who entered then.
Entered with gliding footsteps a bright celestial youth,
Splendid and strange in beauty, past words to speak its truth;
Midnight is not so dark and deep as was his solemn gaze,
By love and pity lighted, as the night with silvery rays.
“What is thy name?” the watcher asked, “that I may tell my lord,
Thou fair and dreadful messenger! whose glance is as a sword;
Whose face is like the Heaven unveiled; whose tender searching voice
Maketh the heart cease beating, but bids the soul rejoice.”
“Azrael ana,” spake the shape, “I am the Spirit of Death;
And I am sent from Allah's throne to stay thy master's breath.”
“Come in! come in! thou Bird of God,” cried joyously Jelâl,
“Fold down thy heavenly plumes and speak!—Islâm! what shall be, shall.”
“Thou blessed one!” the Angel said, “I bring thy time of peace;
When I have touched thee on the eyes, life's latest ache will cease;
God bade me come as I am seen amid the heavenly host,
No enemy of awful mould, but he who loveth most.”
“Dear Angel! do what thou art bid,” quoth Jelâl, smilingly,
“God willing, thou shalt find to-day a patient one in me;
Sweet is the cup of bitterness which cometh in such wise!”
With that he bowed his saintly brow,—and Azrael kissed his eyes.
Al-Mumît! “Slayer!” send him thus,
In love, not anger, unto us.
