al-Ṣūrī (1) had deposited twelve packed loads of his books with his brother; when al-Khaṭīb traveled to Syria he gave the brother a small payment, took some of those volumes, and merged them into his own writings.

From the poetry of Abū ʿAbd Allāh al-Ṣūrī:

Youth has withdrawn in all its bloom, and hoary age has come with gloom;
My heart, bereft of what was mine, now aches with grief at every sign.
Though age has kept its proper road and has not come before its time (2),
It came proclaiming, “Parting nears!”— alas for me at that harsh chime!
Had I not borne the weight of sin, its coming would have stirred no fear (3);
But now my back is bent beneath the crimes my reckless youth did bear.
Whoever mourns lost youthful days and weeps for seasons fair and fine (4),
Know: what you see of tears in me is not for youth once called mine;
I grieve for what that season dragged upon me with the devil’s leap (5).
So woe—alas—if He, my King, withhold His pleasure from this slave (6),
If He enfold not all my sins in the vast mercy that can save (7),
And set not my eventual lot in a Garden where His nearest stay (8).
For I possess no act of worth save trusting well in His kind way (9),
And owning His pure tawḥīd, aware of His majestic sway;
In this I differ from the folk of disbelief, of sin, of fray (10).