A man like Ibn Taymiyyah is a sun that is allowed to set for nothing, and neither the late afternoons nor the early dawns are brightened by its glow(1).
A man like Ibn Taymiyyah presses on, yet no sword nor dark-shafted ash lance has ever worn him down(2).
A man like Ibn Taymiyyah departs, and neither cuffs nor collars have been fragranced with his sweet musk(3).
No well-trained steeds keep pace with him, their riders’ faces clear and radiant.
No circle of champions gathers round him—stars, as it were, with the moon at their center(4).
War never casts a frown upon the stances he takes; rather, victory smiles across its fields(5).
He strives until this religion is straightened from every bend and humanity walks upright upon its path.
Such have the righteous forebears always been: hardship batters their endurance, yet steadfast they remain.
Take the pure Prophets as your model—how much harm was done to them by certain peoples, how often were they driven away!
In Joseph’s entering the prison lies an honor for whoever struggles with what he meets and endures it patiently.
Shall the clear spring disappear before the thirsty have quenched their thirst(6), while the murky sludge is left to stay?
He departed praiseworthy, no stain of harm clinging to him, whereas all the rest are themselves a harm—or at least a nuisance—among humankind(7).