When the Báb was a child,
And, invited to play,
He often would choose
To sit calmly and pray.
His teacher discovered
His spiritual mind
That needed no school
Of the usual kind.
At work every day
In the busy bazaar,
All could see the Báb’s honesty
Shine like a star.
And when the Báb married,
He showered His wife
With a love that would last
Far beyond His short life.
What was there to fear then
From this gentle man?
I don’t understand
How His troubles began.
But troubles there were
From some men who were blind
To the One Who was promised,
So tender, so kind.
They shut Him in prisons.
They left Him no light
For comfort or writing
Or heat in the night.
And finally they killed Him,
Anis at His side,
This shining young Man
Who had nothing to hide.
Oh yes, shots were fired.
And, yes, it was done.
The Báb lost His life
In Tabríz in the sun.
But every July, child,
We cherish His light.
For the Day of the Báb
Won’t be followed by night.
Iambic Nana 