But I rejected them, though I was poor and
possessed nothing but this hut to shelter myself and my child, as
yet unborn. For the sake of this child, I rallied my energies and
dried my eyes. A mother who has not yet given birth should not weep;
her tears would fall on the child and make its heart sick and its
eyes dim, and I wished my child to see the world with his father's
eyes, to begin life with his father's heart. Therefore I implored
Allah to give strength and joyousness to the life that was to be
devoted to my child. One night I had a strange, wondrous, and
beautiful dream. On a sparkling throne I saw a man in glittering
armor, his sword high uplifted, his eyes flaming, his countenance
lustrous with beauty. I knew this man, although I had never seen
him. His countenance was that of my Ibrahim, and yet it was another-
it was his son! In my dream I was distinctly conscious that it was
my son I beheld before me. He looked not at me, but out upon the
world with an angry eye. At his feet thousands lay extended upon the
ground in deep reverence. Far behind him I saw a strange landscape,
such as I had never before beheld. On a wide, yellow waste of sand,
stood towering proud and mighty structures of wondrous form, their
summits glittering in the sunshine. And, strange to say, afar off,
on a magnificent palace, I saw the same man I had before beheld, his
sword again uplifted, and above his head shone the crescent with the
three stars.
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