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Thou seest Me forbidden to speak forth: Then from where will spring Thy melodies, O Nightingale of the worlds? (217:1)

Most of the people are enwrapped in fancy and idle imaginings: Where are the exponents of Thy certitude, O Assurance of the worlds? (217:2)

Baha is drowning in a sea of tribulation: Where is the Ark of Thy salvation, O Savior of the worlds? (217:3)

Thou seest the Dayspring of Thine utterance in the darkness of creation: Where is the sun of the heaven of Thy grace, O Lightgiver of the worlds? (217:4)

The lamps of truth and purity, of loyalty and honor, have been put out: Where are the signs of Thine avenging wrath, O Mover of the worlds? (217:5)

Canst Thou see any who have championed Thy Self, or who ponder on what hath befallen Him in the pathway of Thy love? Now doth My pen halt, O Beloved of the worlds? (217:6)

The branches of the Divine Lote- Tree lie broken by the onrushing gales of destiny: Where are the banners of Thy succor, O Champion of the worlds? (217:7)

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