STORY LXXXVII
I saw bouquets of fresh roses tied upon a cupola of grass. I asked: "What! is despicable grass to sit also in the line of the roses?"
The grass wept and said: "Hush! Companionship does not obliterate nobility. Although I have no beauty, colour, and perfume, am I not, after all, the grass of His[1] garden? I am the slave of a bountiful lord, cherished from old by His liberality. Whether I possess virtue or not I hope for grace from the Lord; although I possess no property, no capital to offer as obedience, He knows the remedy for the slave to whom no support remains. It is customary that the owner gives a writ of emancipation to an old slave. O God, who hast adorned the universe, be bountiful to Thy old slave."
Sa'di, take the road to the Ka'bah of submission. O man of God! Follow the way of God.
Unlucky is he who turns his head away from this door, for he will find no other door.
- ↑ God's garden.
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