The Bustan, whose name means orchard or garden, is a long Persian poem that Sadi of Shiraz wrote in old age and offered to his friends as what he called a Palace of Wealth. The translator presents it in plain English prose, arranged as ten chapters, or doors, each opening on a single moral theme. The teaching comes almost entirely through short anecdotes about kings, dervishes, beggars, and animals, each closed by a couplet that states the lesson.
After a prologue praising God and the Prophet, the first and longest chapter concerns justice and the conduct of rulers. Sadi has a dying king counsel his son to cherish the poor and guard the people, since the king is the tree and the subjects are its root. Stories of a herdsman who out-reasons a careless king, and of a ruler who sells his jewel to feed a starving city, drive home that authority exists for the benefit of those it governs.
The middle chapters turn from the throne to the heart. Benevolence is urged as something to practise now, while one still has the means, because the door of the treasure will not always be open. The chapter on love reads the longing of human lovers, the moth burning at the candle, as an image of the soul's love for God. Humility follows: made from dust, a person should remain low, and the famous raindrop, ashamed before the sea, becomes a pearl precisely because it knew its own smallness.
Resignation and contentment carry the argument inward still further. Sadi argues that peace comes from accepting one's lot and from curbing appetite, warning against gluttony and avarice through brisk comic tales. A carefree beggar, he insists, sleeps more soundly than an anxious king. The chapter on education then maps the inner life as a city in which the self is king and reason the wise minister who must keep the passions of lust and greed in check, and it praises silence over the chatter of the man of many words.
The last three chapters return to God directly, treating gratitude, repentance, and prayer. Sadi catalogues the gifts of creation, from sun and rain to honey and dates, and insists that thanks belong in the heart and not the tongue alone. Throughout, his religion is practical rather than mystical in temper: to fulfil one's duties to other people is to fulfil one's duty to God, and the orchard he plants is meant to bear that fruit in the reader's own conduct.