Two Ruba'iyat

Come, wash your feet, let all your sinful stains,
be washed by other's tears, by other's pains.
Warm, wounded hands will pour from heaven's bowl
sweet drops of blood which fall, soft-kissing rains.

                                                                         


Reclining at rich feast in heavenly rest,
gold skies resound with song, "Our God be blessed!
Though Adam's bite turned ashen in the mouth,
our Saviour's bread turns bitter taste to best!"