جد لي ببركارك الذي صنعت — Kashajim

Grant me your compass, in which were fashioned

marvels by its smith’s two hands.

Its two blades fit together; it is well balanced,

neither marred on any side nor flawed.

Two bodies fashioned into a single form,

and fitted together through intelligence.

These two things, in their interlocking, most resemble

a companion whose company never grows tiresome.

Its pin was secured and hidden from

the eyes of examiners—completely hidden.

So the beholder’s eye imagines it

cast in the metalworker’s mould.

The joining of its two halves secures them,

as a lover clasps his beloved to himself.

Its beholder grows ever more eager for it,

the more he turns it about with his fingertips.

So whenever he contemplates it, his words are:

“Blessed is whoever owns this—blessed!”

It has a gilded eye through which you gave it sight;

you spared no effort in adorning and gilding it.

Through it one looks toward accuracy, and never

does accuracy cease to be sought through it.

Without it, no circle’s shape would be true,

nor would we find calculation properly reckoned.

Exactness is in it; if you turn to

anything else, calculation is mere approximation.

Had Euclid’s eye beheld it,

he would have fallen face down before it in prostration.

So send it, and pair it for me with a ruler;

you will find affection paired with praise.

May you ever bestow and seek wisdom,

asking gifts for a friend, and yourself receiving them.