On the day the soul goes out,

on the day the perfected one ascends,

on the day the soul goes out

away from beneath the wheels of death,

strife is cast

into the Tibil of transience.

Satan sits in mourning,

the Seven sit there in stupor.

The coat of the stars is torn to shreds,

dust is cast on Satan's head.

The bell-ringers weep,

the keepers of the watch-houses are frightened.

The man who brought me here

brought me a splendid garment.

He clothed me with a garment of splendour

and covered me with a turban of light.

He set on me a wreath of ether

and whatever else God granted the angels.

He lifted me up to the house of life,

to the dwelling that is without limit.

He set me upright among the angels,

set me among the perfected. —

God is held high and is victorious,

and victorious is the man who went here.

You of proven righteousness,

I come with you and escort you,

until the scale weighs

works and reward.