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.
Tear not thy plumage off, it can not be replaced; Disfigure not thy face in wantonness, O fair one! That face which is bright as the forenoon sun--- To disfigure it were a grievous sin. 'Twere paganism to mar such a face as thine! The moon itself would weep to lose sight of it! Knowest thou not the beauty of thine own face? Quit this temper that leads thee to war with thyself! It is the claws of thine own foolish thoughts That in spite wound the face of thy quiet soul. Know such thoughts to be claws fraught with poison. Which score deep wounds on the face of thy soul.
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