Even if my eyes are left desolate of them, my heart remains their dwelling—after all, a land is only rebuilt by its inhabitants.
When I heard that Ahmad had fulfilled his appointed term, departing this life upon pure monotheism and steadfast faith,
And had set out to meet a Lord whose decree none can resist—glory be to the All-Powerful, the Bestower of grace—
Our calamity grew immense at the loss of the master of our age, who had clarified the Sunnah of Ahmad(1) with lucid exposition.
He had grasped every root and branch of knowledge, even the most singular subtleties of Qurʾanic exegesis.
He would debate the jurists over their positions and answer them with firm proofs and explanation.
He outstripped kings by his steadfast heart and courage—a bravery that reached all the way to Ghazan.
I would ransom him— that hero who would confront their troops single-handed, without any support or helpers.
Who can now stand in his place in our own time, or in any bygone age? (2)
Renunciation and devoted worship were his constant path; such indeed is the hallmark of a godly scholar.
His mounts have travelled on to the Abode of Recompense, holding fast to the promises of the All-Merciful.
Have you not seen him upon his bier, surrounded—so far as sight could reach—by radiant lights?
People encircled the funeral from every side, each pouring forth the tears of the bereaved.
They were thousands; none could reckon their multitude save the God whose pardon is all-embracing.
They lowered him as one lowers a full-moon in its brightness, whereupon the twin luminaries(3) rejoiced at his arrival.
ʿAbd al-Ḥalīm, his father, was the master of his age, and his brother ʿAbd Allah a second ḥabr(4).