Hath there come unto thee tidings of the Overwhelming?
On that day (many) faces will be downcast,
Scorched by burning fire,
Drinking from a boiling spring,
No food for them save bitter thorn-fruit
Which doth not nourish nor release from hunger.
In that day other faces will be calm,
Glad for their effort past,
In a high Garden
Where they hear no idle speech,
Wherein is a gushing spring,
Wherein are couches raised
And goblets set at hand
And cushions ranged
And silken carpets spread.
Will they not regard the camels, how they are created?
And the heaven, how it is raised?
And the hills, how they are set up?
And the earth, how it is spread?