At noon Mirza Moneer brought me a letter to translate into Persian. When this was finished I called at the Master's house to deliver it. I knocked at the door three or four times before Khosro answered. As I waited outside I heard the voice of the Master, dictating Tablets to Mirza Moneer. I was then announced and ushered into the room. The Master welcomed me. He was sitting near the balcony; in front of him was a chair piled high with letters from the East and West. His dress and turban were of snowy white matching his beautiful locks and beard. Across the street there was a tall green acacia tree which attracted his attention. Now and then His eyes closed and again opened revealing infinite pity and love hidden in His eyes. Mirza Moneer was sitting writing down the heavenly words which flowed like a fountain from the tongue of the Beloved. As I watched him, I was struck by the divine beauty of his countenance, soft, tender and most adorable.
The many difficult problems of the Baha’i world are solved by Him. Now He writes to Persia on how to hold an election, then to far-off America on how to rent a hall. One Baha’i desires to know whether she should cook food for her child; another person asks how to proceed to buy a piece of land. There are some misunderstandings in this assembly to be removed; the feelings of some person are ruffled, and must be smoothed down. One man's mother or father is dead, he requests a Tablet of visitation, another desires to have a wife. To one a child is born, she begs for a Baha’i name; another has taught several souls, he asks for Baha’i rings for them. This man has had business reverses, he must be encouraged, an-other has fallen from a ladder, he implores for a speedy recovery. One has quarreled with his wife, and he wants advice on how to be reconciled; another supplicates for blessings upon his marriage. The Master goes over these one by one with infinite patience and with His words of advice, creates order out of chaos. The sorrows of the world troop along in review before Him, and as they pass, lo, the transformation happens ! The sorrowful becomes joyful, the ill-tempered good-natured, the lazy active, the sleepy one awakened. With magical words He transmutes iron into gold and darkness into light. At last he rises from his seat and for a while walks to and fro, still dictating Tablets to the philosopher and to the simple; soaring toward the empyrean of spirituality, giving us a vision of sanctity, and of the roses of Paradise, and for a while we roam, guided by Him, in those delectable gardens of Abha, intoxicated with the fragrance of God; and then we find ourselves in the streets, walking home upborn on the wings of light. (Ahmad Sohrab, ‘Abdu’l-Baha in Egypt, pp. 136-137)