You, the heart that nurtures all,
A symphony of love, standing tall.
Today, the world is weary, forlorn,
Yet in you, a vibrant spirit is born.
You mend the broken, right the wrong,
The universe's craftsman, forever strong.
Of this grace, what can one say?
At your door, suppliants pray.
They find their heart's desires,
A bounty from your fires.
Of this grace, what can one say?
From your mercy, none depart in vain,
The afflicted find solace from pain.
A thousand hearts you fill with ease,
At your door, they find their peace.
Of this grace, what can one say?
You make the hard path smooth and clear,
A blooming hope, banishing fear.
If fate divides, severing ties,
You reunite those beneath the skies.
Of this grace, what can one say?
Day and night, the mosques are blessed,
Your door a place of beauty, confessed.
They receive the alms of your grace,
Those who spread their hands in this place.
The embellishment of this door,
Bonds forged by your mercy, forevermore.
From fragile threads, hearts draw near,
You reunite those who were held dear.
Your grace unfolds, a wondrous show,
Of this door, what can one say?
No beggar leaves empty-handed,
Here, the needy, are always commended.
They depart with blessings in hand,
Of this grace, what can one say?
Of this grace.
|
