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English translation

Khwaja Abu Nasr, the deputy of the minister, May the evil eye be far from that beauty and wisdom. His character is without hypocrisy or pretense, His character is without conflict or discord. He is of good character and good speech, Of fine handwriting and pleasant countenance. Whatever the ear heard of the master's perfection, The eye beheld a hundred thousand times more of it. He is a garden and companion to the soul and heart, A perfume and assembly to reason and the rose. For whatever fragrance the horizons possess of his character, The musk-deer of China does not hold in its navel. He is the spirit of vision and the intellect of speech, The wealth of selflessness and the legacy of the nation. His merit is so renowned in this age, That etiquette serves at his door like a chamberlain. For the sake of the Sultan's dignity and service, And not for this or that insignificant person. His threshold is the sanctuary of the learned, The dust of his house is collyrium for the intellect. He lets go of his own wealth like a passing phantom, But guards that of the Sultan as if it were his own soul. His form is the beginning of the soul's nourishment, His character is the pinnacle of the Chapter of Noah. He has acted and spoken for the sake of the Truth, His habit is wedded to the preparation of loyalty. In the path of gratitude, like an angel, He is truly a strive-maker and pain-bearer. Before him, for the sake of profit and loss, Are a hundred thousand hearts, yet but a single command. Like the intellect, regarding when, who, what, and how, His contemplation penetrates the inner and the outer. Following the sun that adorns the era, Jupiter derives from him the rectitude of judgment. His judgment is the pole-star of the rule of great men, Kingdom and religion revolve around his counsel. Like the intellect, from beyond the blue sphere, He has foreseen whatever is yet to be before it exists. Before his judgment, nothing remains hidden, No veiled face upon the heavens. His understanding is not inferior to Jamshid's cup, For like Jam, he saw all things that are to happen. His heart, for the sake of higher knowledge, Is the niche of divine light. The trace of his grace is like pure water, The sweeper of his door is the ether of majesty. There is not, in the workshop of God's creation, An administrator and problem-solver like the master. When his fingertip takes up the pen, The four humors of the enemy are seized with affliction. He draws a necklace of pearls from the tip of the pen, When he steps upon the white paper from its top. High is low before his glory, even the Throne, And narrow is the expanse of earth before his carpet. The cloud weeps out of envy of his hand and bounty, The dawn smiles from kissing the dust of his path. Envious of that hand and speech are The water of the sea and the royal pearl. His smiling lip and fresh countenance Have surpassed the luster and fame of spring. In the presence of the masters of secrets, out of wisdom, Every moment he places a ring of servitude in his ear. If his pen is not the celestial sphere, Why then does it draw forth the moon from its collar? Contemplate but one of his virtues, Rub the intellect and make the spirit like wine. Until you see, with the eye of intellect and certainty, A hundred picture-galleries of China within two lines of his writing. Enclosed like the shadow and the sun, Within night and day, the names of fear and hope. Calligraphy which is world and religion, The eye sees roses and the intellect gathers them. His high resolve is the sky and his nature is angelic, His mind is the sun and his pen is the celestial sphere. Know his calligraphy in the breeze of the secret rosebush To be like the peacock's back and the falcon's breast. Born of the spirit of the pen and the light of certainty, Are the night and day of the world of state and religion. The yellowness of his reed-pen is the yolk of intellect, The blackness of his scroll is the dark steed of faith. Whoever has not a judgment like his pen, His pen will sever his foot. His writing is the line of Israfil's life, His pen is the measure of Michael's sustenance. The form of his writing that is in the letter, Is well-dressed like the spring breeze. His pen is like the tip of the eye-liners of beauties, His writing is like the coquettish glances of the beautiful. The guardian of the path of religion is his firmness, The Holy Spirit is the lowest of his stations. Neither little nor much is hidden from him, Not a single speck nor a date-stone's groove. His stature is like the moon that adorns the kingdom, His pen is like an effective sword. In safety and in the character of houris and fairies, In the good tidings of humanity, he is a true human. The root of his generosity has reached Capella, Along with its fruit, leaves, branches, stems, and veins. The fragrance of his remembrance is the food of the angel's spirit, The length of his life is the orbit of the heavens' rotation. May his command be like the command of the angel of spirit, May his life be like the life of Noah and Lamech. Reason sat with him in school, Knowledge acquired science and etiquette from him. The spirit is mounted on the steed of his favor, Reason is in the school of his guidance. At the time of securing wealth and calculating accounts, He strikes magicians with his knowledge. And should there be need to study a book, By the Creator's power, he has committed it to memory. Whatever condition or matter the King seeks from him, He recites it all entirely from memory. The kingdom of the world was clearly visible to him, His heart became like a mirror. How wonderful is his bright and pure judgment, For which the sky became a writing tablet of dust! The reed-pen in his fingers, during its movement, Opens the door of goodness to the creation. When that delicate, slender, yellow, and thin reed-pen Becomes mounted upon his fingertip, It turns the two cheeks of friends ruby-red, And makes the enemies black as a horseshoe. The sorrow of the enemy and the joy of the friend, Good and evil are bound up in its tongue. His pen is like a pregnant night, From which victory letters became concealed. From that black tongue and white body of the pen, The enemy has become hopeless of his own life. Its body is white and its beak is black, All year round its food has been ink. Every moment it dives into the black sea, To draw forth pearls for the crown and diadem. He is always of an awake heart, Wise and vigilant in every affair. If the wealth of the world belongs to him, He scatters it all upon his visitors. No place remains in his heart for material things, Therefore, he has no substitute in the world. Though its color resembles sin, In its motion, it resembles the moon. When it became a guide to his heart for an hour, The canopy of time became animate. The tent of his life has a thousand ropes, The crescent-moon of his tent is equal to the moonlight. Since the King of the East gave him authority, He gave a hundred thousand adornments to the kingdom. He entrusted the kingdom's affairs to the capable, Consequently, the prosperity of governments increased. What is better in this fleeting world Than work for the man and men for the work? This too was from the good fortune of the King of the East, That through him, the prosperity of action increased. Consequently, a whole world found peace, And profited in life and in wealth. For the King appointed someone over the world Who wishes no harm to any creature. He divided the seven realms by the pen, Without committing oppression of even a single copper coin. The ruler of a kingdom ought to be like this, So that the world may find peace through his justice. As long as the world exists, may the King's life endure, Who granted him such a high station. May the market of the kingdom be prosperous forever, The King benefiting from him, and he from the King. May the form of writing be ever extensive, Occupied with God and the sovereign. May the King have eternal life, And his masters be like the moon and the sun. The just master, that pure and loyal one, The head of the divan and the master of accounts. May the evil eye be far from such two ministers, Who have no equal in the world.