In maze of Latin script and sin, your bearings, no doubt, you have lost belief that none has might save God, is cure for weak that acts so fast.

A man who likes to hunt the facts must quit all hopes of West, is clear its atmosphere is full of charm, but one can't find musk-yielding deer.

The self of man derives much strength from tears he sheds at early morn much good that tulip, like the dart, the marge of some brook may adorn.

This idol-house of hue and scent, or fane so ancient, old and hoar hunts hose who don't believe in God, on Muslims has effect no more.

O Shaikh, get all the rich expelled from precincts of the Holy mosque For niche of mosque is angry with them all for their much impious task.