And if the question shifts to his lineage—“From whose stock does this noble man descend?”—then say: “He comes from a line of soaring glory; how excellent a son he is!”

Whether on the battlefield or in calm disputation, a banner of victory and divine success is perpetually unfurled for him.

Kings stand in awe of his lofty gathering, as do those whose own might is feared; even men who never quail before a lion feel apprehension in his presence.

So great is his reverence for the truth that, were a fierce lion to halt before him, it would slink away trembling.

He has forsaken the world and its finery out of pure detachment, leaving behind neither scrap nor fibre.

Ears lean in gentle attentiveness (1) when he speaks, as though hearing itself were bound to his words.

His very mention—and still more his sight—reminds (2) one of Allah, like the recollection of a long-lost treasure once it has been regained.

You will always see crowds at his door: some come to acquire knowledge, others to obtain beneficence.

Never did he invoke harm against those who, in their aggression, thirsted for his blood; he blamed no critic, nor did he harbor resentment.

Indeed, he would sometimes ask the Almighty Allah to forgive anyone who deliberately wronged him or even plotted to kill him.

Such is the champion of young men—unlike the savage tiger that lashes out in fury when angered (3).

“These acts of nobility are no mere two bowls of milk,” a gift that would scarcely satisfy a handful of hungry people tomorrow.

His qualities are like the lingering perfume of a garden, long established, which the breeze seeks out again after intervals (4);

or like the stars that guide a solitary traveler by night when he is left alone in the darkness.