Official duties grow murky day by day, yet your heart, my lord, remains clear.
Disperse those sighs of sorrow, transform them into sounds of joy.
Where shall this joy find its home? In the music of strings and song.
Songs like strings of pearls, and strings that ring from the paulownia wood.
Behold this three-foot case, within it lies the feeling of all ages.
The great string holds spring's warmth, red armor follows the sprouting buds.
The small string, though fine as a feather, once plucked, startles the stalwart man.
In sequence, the notes zhi and jue call, sunflowers turn their hearts to the sun.
The shang note manifests integrity, gleaming like autumn frost.
Gather them, the five tones complete, like Master Zhao's flawless music.
Strike them, they spread to all things, grass and trees alike burst into bloom.
May you, my lord, preserve this instrument, and keep your heart ever peaceful.
I know you, sir, embraced the Way, dwelling among cliffs and clouds, tilling the land.
Your jar of grain empty by morning, yet you rose strongly to take up office.
The plain qin is always at hand, at dawn, flutes and pipes sing.
Serene beneath the ancient locust tree, from time to time you stroll there.
At noon, a hundred clerks disperse, all day long the curtain banners hang.
Carts and boats rush to meet, but my Way does not force welcome.
The brush's toil dazzles with red and black, kindness dissolves disputes.
Exactions cease, the sounding board is still, measures and jars are filled fairly.
A gentle breeze stirs a thousand homes, the warm pitch hums with life.
Thus you make present-day Shangrao resemble ancient Wucheng.
I ask, how can you achieve this? By holding fast to a single word: sincerity.
I hear of good officials of old, who nurtured first the orphaned and poor.
I have not heard, beneath the pear tree's shade, a high lamp lighting a long stand.
The great Odes have a level road; a small fish needs no hasty cooking.
You, my lord, are truly a Confucian scholar, unwilling to honor Brother Coin.
My heart is like a level field, where joy grows things naturally.
Do not say Tongxiang is humble; your descendants will pass on your good name.
Do not say a hundred li is narrow; your star matches the constellations.
I wish you to guard this ambition, unchanged from beginning to end.
Not only will human affairs be smooth, but you may join with divine principle.
You shame me by showing jade; my repayment is not of fine jade.
In years to come, borne on the warm wind, I hope you brush against heaven's pillars.