The Buddhist to Confucians thus:
"Like dogs ye live, like dogs ye die;
"Content ye rest with wretched earth;
God, Judgment, Hell ye fain defy."

Retorts the Tartar: "Shall I lend
mine only ready-money 'now,'
"For vain usurious 'Then' like thine,
avaunt, a triple idiot Thou!"

"With this poor life, with this mean world
I fain complete what in me lies;
"I strive to perfect this my me;
my sole ambition's to be wise."

When doctors differ who decides
amid the milliard-headed throng?
Who save the madman dares to cry:
"'Tis I am right, you all are wrong?"

"You all are right, you all are wrong,"
we hear the careless Soofi say,
"For each believes his glimm'ering lamp
to be the gorgeous light of day."

"Thy faith why false, my faith why true?
'tis all the work of Thine and Mine,
"The fond and foolish love of self
that makes the Mine excel the Thine."