When my bier moves on the day of death, Think not my heart is in this world. Do not weep for me and cry "Woe, woe!" You will fall in the devil's snare: that is woe. When you see my hearse, cry not "Parted, parted!" Union and meeting are mine in that hour. If you commit me to the grave, say not "Farewell, farewell!" For the grave is a curtain hiding the communion of Paradise. After beholding descent, consider resurrection; Why should setting be injurious to the sun and moon? To you it seems a setting, but 'tis a rising; Tho' the vault seems a prison, 'tis the release of the soul. What seed went down into the earth but it grew? Why this doubt of yours as regards the seed of man? What bucket was lowered but it came out brimful? Why should the Joseph of the spirit complain of the well? Shut your mouth on this side and open it beyond, For in placeless air will be your triumphal song.
Pain is a treasure, for it contains mercies; The kernel is soft when the rind is scraped off. O brother, the place of darkness and cold Is the fountain of Life and the cup of ecstasy. So also is endurance of pain and sickness and disease. For from abasement proceeds exaltation. The spring seasons are hidden in the autumns, If spiritual manifestations had been sufficient, The creation of the world had been needless and vain. If spiritual thought were equivalent to love of God, Outward forms of temples and prayers would not exist
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