And thus, from the failure of their hands, the faithful succumb to apathy and despair

From the ruin and slaughter of the city, they despise their own reflection

From the corruption of politics, they loathe their very soul.

I said: This man of earth- was he not meant to be one with the heavenly hosts high up above?

His heart is vaster than the sea, his horizons without limit.

When his wings are spread to the southern sky, the abode of light, the concealed is revealed

And when he turns to the east, the cradle of the rising sun, he opens wisdom’s hidden mysteries

On the chariots of his wisdom he ascends to the heavens, finding in the abyss the pathway to the heights.

From his lowly station to the heavenly heights, and down once more to the depths of earth, until the pathways of the world stand open before him.

Running and returning, carrying and fetching, the spirit of understanding reaches the very ends of the creation, lifting upwards and casting down, all within the flash of cognition

Until, by strength, spirit and pride, he places the orbs of the earth and even the heavens above into the palms of his hands.

And so he continues until his knowledge contains every trait, and every secret of each and every being of the creation, each according to its kind.

And for the God of all the gods, wondrous words are said, and for the highest of the high, a rising speech is spoken.