SOON hast thou run the race of life,
  Nor could our tears thy speed control:
Still in the coursers’ gen’rous strife
  The best will soonest reach the goal.

As Death upon his hand turns o’er
  The different gems the world displays,
He seizes first, to swell his store,
  The brightest jewel he surveys.

Thy name, by every breath conveyed,
  Stretched o’er the globe its boundless flight;
Alas! in eve the length’ning shade
  But lengthens to be lost in night!

If gracious Allah bade thee close
  Thy youthful eyes so soon on day,
’Tis that he readiest welcomes those
  Who love him best, and best obey.