It was as though he were the chief of a swarm, the queen-bee toward whom—alive or dead—the eyes of every soul converged. (1)
His virtues filled the lands, and the provinces rang with the wondrous reports of his excellence.
His praise flowed upon human tongues until the earth itself became a fragrant garden of his remembrance.
Ages will perish and be no more, yet Ahmad and the tales of him will ever animate the evening gatherings.
So the All-Merciful settled him in His abode of security, that all fear concerning him might be removed.
He granted him ample shade (2) in a spacious Paradise beneath which rivers flow.

He also composed—may Allah, in His mercy, pardon them both—(3):

At the calamity that struck the righteous, God-fearing Imām, every tear among mankind flowed in unison,
And mourners bewailed him like bereft, cooing doves.
He died on a Monday, a secret whose meaning is not hidden from those of insight.
It was a passing through which the All-Watching magnified his rank before the whole assembly of creation.
All people surrounded him, men and women alike, hastening on foot,
And they walked beneath his bier as it was borne high above the heads of dignitaries and rulers. (4)