And now, they have not seen the light, Bright it `is' in the clouds, And the wind hath passed by and cleanseth them.
Taking hold of the face of the throne, Spreading over it His cloud.
By two palms He hath covered the light, And layeth a charge over it in meeting,
Is it declared to Him that I speak? If a man hath spoken, surely he is swallowed up.
From the golden north it cometh, Beside God `is' fearful honour.
Who hath divided for the flood a conduit? And a way for the lightning of the voices?