Meet Jalaluddin Rumi, a leading mystical poet of 12th century Persia and go on the journey of ascension.
Passage
Beats there a heart within that breast of thine?
Then compass reverently its sacred shrine :
For the true spiritual Caaba is the heart,
And no proud pile of perishable art.
When God ordained the pilgrim rite, that sign
Was meant to lead thy thought to things divine.
A thousand times he treads that round in vain
Who even one human heart would idly pain.
Leave wealth behind ; bring God thy heart, best light
To guide thy wavering steps through life’s dark night.
God spurns the riches of a thousand coffers. And says,
‘ My chosen is he his heart who offers.
Nor gold nor silver seek I, but above
All gifts the heart, and buy it with my love ;
Yea, one sad, contrite heart, which men despise,
More than my throne and fixed decree I prize.
Then think not lowly of thy heart, though lowly,
For holy is it, and there dwells the Holy.
God’s presence-chamber is the human breast ;
Ah happy he whose heart holds such a guest !
William Rounseville Alger. Poetry of the Orient. Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1883.
