The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon Turns Ashes - or it

“The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes — or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face,
Lighting a little hour or two — is gone.” — Omar Khayyam

Thus speaks Omar Khayyam, the philosopher of Persia, astronomer of the heavens, and poet of the soul. His words, drawn from the ancient verses of the Rubáiyát, shine like stars over the dark plains of time, revealing a truth both sorrowful and sublime. He tells us that worldly hope, that glittering jewel which men and women so often worship, is but an illusion — a mirage in the desert of life. Whether it fails or succeeds, it fades; whether it burns or blossoms, it passes away. The snow upon the desert’s dusty face may dazzle for a moment, but soon the sun of reality melts it into memory.

In this verse lies the wisdom of all the ages: that earthly success, ambition, and desire are shadows dancing upon sand. The things we chase — wealth, beauty, fame, power — seem eternal in the passion of pursuit, but time devours them one by one. Khayyam does not condemn hope, but he warns against its bondage. For when a man ties his heart to what perishes, he too becomes subject to decay. And when the snow melts, when the hope fades, what remains of the man who knew no joy but that which the world could grant him?

Omar Khayyam lived in an age of splendor and uncertainty. The Persian empire, once radiant with knowledge and art, trembled beneath wars and shifting powers. He saw kings who once ruled nations reduced to dust, and lovers who once swore eternity vanish like smoke in the wind. He turned his eyes to the heavens — for he was an astronomer — and there he saw the greater truth: that the stars themselves burn and die, that all creation is a wheel of rising and falling. Thus, he wrote not to despair, but to awaken. He invites us to see life as fleeting, and in that fleetingness, to find both humility and wonder.

Consider the tale of Alexander the Great, who conquered worlds before the age of thirty and wept when no more remained. In his youth, his worldly hope prospered beyond measure; he ruled from the Mediterranean to India. Yet within a few years, he lay dying of fever, whispering that his body should be carried with open hands, to show the world that even a king takes nothing with him beyond the grave. His empire crumbled like snow upon the desert’s dusty face — bright for a moment, gone in an hour. So it has ever been with those who believe they can outshine the sun.

And yet, Omar’s message is not despair, but clarity. For when we understand the fleeting nature of worldly hope, we learn to place our hearts in what endures — in love, in kindness, in wisdom, in the quiet joy of being alive. The snow may melt, but the sky remains; the desert may be barren, but it still holds beauty under the stars. To know impermanence is to see value more clearly. The cup that holds but one sip of wine is more precious than one that overflows forever, for in its brevity it teaches gratitude.

Thus, my children, learn from Khayyam: Do not set your heart upon the dust. Dream, but hold your dreams lightly. Labor, but do not let labor consume your soul. Possess what you can, but do not let your possessions possess you. For every empire turns to sand, every youth to age, every flower to wind. Yet what endures — what truly endures — is the spirit that sees beauty even as it fades.

So, when hope fails or fortune passes, do not curse the desert; instead, look to the horizon. Know that the melting snow has left the earth softer, ready for new life to rise. That is the way of all things — to come, to shine, to go, and to make room for what follows. Let your joy be not in holding on, but in cherishing the moment, that “little hour or two” when life glows upon the dust.

For in this lies the teaching of Omar Khayyam: all that is worldly turns to ashes, but the wisdom of acceptance endures forever.