In Putian, the foremost clan, grand and high,
With purple pouches, broidered tents, noble supply.
A son named Yingzhi, among them best,
His mind set on the Dao, all else suppressed.
He mastered six arts, embraced five constants all,
East, Confucius; north, Fuxi, his study's hall.
Daily they discussed, collected, and stored,
Five classics in his box, one classic adored.
Modest in self-cultivation, though obscure, he shines;
Substance outweighs fame, though suppressed, he climbs.
In ancient times, Mencius did repel
The Mo and Yang, their doctrines to dispel.
A wing to culture, a pillar to our Way,
Not just in poetry and books his sway.
What harm do other scholars' theories bring
To Mencius, who stands with towering wing?
Your naming, sir, is chosen with detail,
Through penetration, brilliance without fail.
Breaking through fences, no gate, no side,
In tune with ancient music, far and wide.
Dispelling doubts, reviving what was dead,
Curing blindness with a needle thread.
From one know ten thousand, name and truth displayed,
Those who share your love, in fine phrases arrayed.
Plain wine and simple broth, you taste them first,
The gate of classical arts, where steeds are nursed.
The writings of the Canon, like phoenix song
At morning sun, where bright notes belong.
Learning serves the Son of Heaven, your trade
Continues the star-official's accolade.
To be famed through classics, who else but you
Can claim this honor, steadfast and true?