One asked: ‘How is it you surpass us in
This search for Truth; what is our crippling sin?
We search and so do you — but you receive
Truth’s purity while we stand by and grieve.’

The hoopoe tells them about the glance of Solomon

The hoopoe answered him: ‘Great Solomon
Once looked at me — it is that glance alone
Which gave me what I know; no wealth could bring
The substance I received from wisdom’s king.
No one can gain this by the forms of prayer,
For even Satan bowed with pious care:
Though don’t imagine that you need not pray;
We curse the fool who tricks you in this way.
Pray always, never for one moment cease,
Pray in despair and when your goods increase,
Consume your life with prayer, till Solomon
Bestows his glance, and ignorance is gone.
When Solomon accepts you, you will know
Far more than my unequal words can show.’

The story of King Mahmoud and the woodcutter

King Mahmoud went out hunting. In the chase
His courtiers flagged, unequal to the pace.
An old man led a donkey whose high load
Of brushwood slipped and fell into the road.
The old man scratched his head; the king came near
And said: “Do you need help?”“I do, that’s clear,”
The old man said; “if you could lend a hand,
You won’t lose much. I see that you command
Your share of grace — such men are always good.”
The king got down and helped him with the wood,
His flower-like hands embraced the thorns; and then
He rode back to his waiting lords again.
He said to them: “An old man will appear,
Riding a piled-high donkey — lead him here;
Block all the paths and highways to this place;
I want him to confront me face to face.”
The winding roads were blocked up in a ring,
Of which the centre was the waiting king.
The old man mumbled as he rode alone:
“Why won’t he go… this donkey’s skin and bone.
Soldiers! . . . Good day, my lords!” and still the way
Led pitilessly on; to his dismay
There rose ahead a royal canopy,
And there was no escape that he could see.
He rode, for there was nothing else to do,
And found awaiting him a face he knew.
“I made a king hump wood for me,” he cried;
“God help all sinners now, I’m terrified.”
“What troubles you, my man?” inquired the king.
“Don’t play with me, you took in everything,”
The old man said; “I’m just a wretched fool
Who day and night must scour the plain for fuel;
I sell the thorns I get and buy dry bread —
Give me some scraps, and blessings on your head.”
The king replied: “Old man, I’ll buy your wood —
Come, name a price you think is fair and good.”
“My lord, such wood cannot be cheaply sold;
It’s worth, I reckon, ten full bags of gold.”
The courtiers laughed: “It’s worth two barley grains.
Shut up and sell, and thank you for your pains.”
“Two grains, my friends, that’s true — but this rare buyer
Can surely manage something rather higher?
A great one touched these thorns — his hand brought forth
A hundred flowers; just think what that is worth!
A dinar buys one root — a little gain
Is only right, I’ve had my share of pain;
The wood itself is worthless, I agree —
It is that touch which gives it dignity”

The Conference of the Birds, by Attar

O thou who art turning thy face towards God! Close thine eyes to all things else, and open them to the realm of the All-Glorious. Ask whatsoever thou wishest of Him alone; seek whatsoever thou seekest from Him alone. With a look He granteth a hundred thousand hopes, with a glance He healeth a hundred thousand incurable ills, with a nod He layeth balm on every wound, with a glimpse He freeth the hearts from the shackles of grief. He doeth as He doeth, and what recourse have we? He carrieth out His Will, He ordaineth what He pleaseth. Then better for thee to bow down thy head in submission, and put thy trust in the All-Merciful Lord.

Abdu’l-Bahá, Selections from the Writings of Abdu’l-Bahá, p. 50

Cast upon them, O My God, the glances of the eye of Thy favour and bounty, and deliver them from self and passion, that they may draw nigh unto Thy most exalted Horizon, taste the sweetness of Thy remembrance, and delight in that bread which Thou hast sent down from the heaven of Thy Will and the firmament of Thy grace.

Bahá’u’lláh, The Summons of the Lord of Hosts, p. 103