Mohamets Gesang
بِسۡمِ
ٱللهِ ٱلرَّحۡمَـٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ
Shaykh Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (r.a.) wrote the famous song in praise of the Prophet Muhammad (s.a.w.), Mohamets Gesang. The meaning of the Prophet’s (s.a.w.) reality is put into the metaphor of the stream, starting from the smallest beginning and growing to be an immense spiritual power, expanding, unfolding, and gloriously ending in the ocean, the symbol for divinity. He described the Prophet (s.a.w.) as a spiritual flood, the faydhah, in carrying humanity with him like the stream does with small brooks and eventually turns into a river racing to the sea. You can hear it sung here: Mohamets Gesang.
“See the rock-born stream!
Like the gleam
Of a star so bright.
Kindly spirits,
High above the clouds,
Nourished him while
youthful,
In the copse between the
cliffs.
Young and fresh.
From the clouds he
danceth
Down upon the marble
rocks;
Then tow’rd heaven,
Leaps exulting.
Through the
mountain-passes,
Chaseth he, the colour’d
pebbles,
And, advancing like a
chief,
Tears his brother streamlets with him
In his course.
In the valley down below,
‘Neath his footsteps
spring the flowers,
And the meadow,
In his breath finds life.
Yet no shady vale can
stay him,
Nor can flowers,
Round his knees
all-softly twining,
With their loving eyes
detain him;
To the plain his course
he taketh,
Serpent-winding,
Social streamlets,
Join his waters. And now moves he
O’er the plain in silv’ry
glory,
And the plain in him
exults,
And the rivers from the
plain,
And the streamlets from
the mountain,
Shout with joy,
exclaiming, “Brother,
Brother, take thy
brethren with thee,
With thee to thine aged Father,
To the Everlasting Ocean,
Who, with Arms Outstretching
far,
Waiteth for us;
Ah, in vain those Arms
lie Open,
To embrace His yearning
children;
For the thirsty sand
consumes us,
In the desert waste; the
sunbeams,
Drink our life-blood;
hills around us,
Into lakes would dam us! Brother,
Take thy brethren of the
plain,
Take thy brethren of the
mountain
With thee, to thy Father’s
Arms!
Let all come, then!” —
And now swells he,
Lordlier still; yea, e’en
a people
Bears his regal flood on
high!
And in triumph onward
rolling,
Names to countries gives he, - cities
Spring to light beneath his foot.
Ever, ever, on he rushes,
Leaves the towers’
flame-tipp’d summits,
Marble palaces, the
offspring
Of his fullness, far
behind.
Cedar-houses bears the
Atlas,
On his giant shoulders;
flutt’ring,
In the breeze far, far
above him,
Thousand flags are gaily
floating,
Bearing witness to his
might.
And so beareth he his
brethren,
All his treasures, all
his children,
Wildly shouting, to the bosom,
Of his long-expectant sire.”
MasyhaaAllah. I like that "In his breath finds life. Brothr, brother, take thy brethren with thee.
ReplyDelete