Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frailvessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever withfresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills anddales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses itslimits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.
Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands ofmine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is roomto fill.
When thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart wouldbreak with pride; and I look to thy face, and tears come to myeyes.
All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweetharmony--and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on itsflight across the sea.
I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. I know that only as asinger I come before thy presence.
I touch by the edge of the far-spreading wing of my song thy feetwhich I could never aspire to reach.
Drunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call theefriend who art my lord.
I know not how thou singest, my master! I ever listen in silentamazement.
The light of thy music illumines the world. The life breath ofthy music runs from sky to sky. The holy stream of thy musicbreaks through all stony obstacles and rushes on.
My heart longs to join in thy song, but vainly struggles for avoice. I would speak, but speech breaks not into song, and I cryout baffled. Ah, thou hast made my heart captive in the endlessmeshes of thy music, my master!
Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowingthat thy living touch is upon all my limbs.
I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts,knowing that thou art that truth which has kindled the light ofreason in my mind.
I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keepmy love in flower, knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmostshrine of my heart.
And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions,knowing it is thy power gives me strength to act.
I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. The worksthat I have in hand I will finish afterwards.
Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest norrespite, and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless seaof toil.
Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs andmurmurs; and the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court ofthe flowering grove.
Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to singdedication of live in this silent and overflowing leisure.
Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest itdroop and drop into the dust.
I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touchof pain from thy hand and pluck it. I fear lest the day endbefore I am aware, and the time of offering go by.
Though its colour be not deep and its smell be faint, use thisflower in thy service and pluck it while there is time.
My song has put off her adornments. She has no pride of dressand decoration. Ornaments would mar our union; they would comebetween thee and me; their jingling would drown thy whispers.
My poet's vanity dies in shame before thy sight. O master poet,I have sat down at thy feet. Only let me make my life simple andstraight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.
The child who is decked with prince's robes and who has jewelledchains round his neck loses all pleasure in his play; his dresshampers him at every step.
In fear that it may be frayed, or stained with dust he keepshimself from the world, and is afraid even to move.
Mother, it is no gain, thy bondage of finery, if it keep oneshut off from the healthful dust of the earth, if it rob one ofthe right of entrance to the great fair of common human life.
O Fool, try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders! O beggar,to come beg at thy own door!
Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all, and neverlook behind in regret.
Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it toucheswith its breath. It is unholy--take not thy gifts through itsunclean hands. Accept only what is offered by sacred love.
Here is thy footstool and there rest thy feet where live thepoorest, and lowliest, and lost.
When I try to bow to thee, my obeisance cannot reach down to thedepth where thy feet rest among the poorest, and lowliest, andlost.
Pride can never approach to where thou walkest in the clothes ofthe humble among the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.
My heart can never find its way to where thou keepest companywith the companionless among the poorest, the lowliest, and thelost.
Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads! Whom dostthou worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doorsall shut? Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee!
He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and wherethe pathmaker is breaking stones. He is with them in sun and inshower, and his garment is covered with dust. Put of thy holymantle and even like him come down on the dusty soil!
Deliverance? Where is this deliverance to be found? Our masterhimself has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation; he isbound with us all for ever.
Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers andincense! What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered andstained? Meet him and stand by him in toil and in sweat of thybrow.
The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long.
I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, andpursued my voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving mytrack on many a star and planet.
It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself, andthat training is the most intricate which leads to the uttersimplicity of a tune.
The traveller has to knock at every alien door to come to hisown, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reachthe innermost shrine at the end.
My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut them and said 'Hereart thou!'
The question and the cry 'Oh, where?' melt into tears of athousand streams and deluge the world with the flood of theassurance 'I am!'
The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.
I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing myinstrument.
The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set;only there is the agony of wishing in my heart.
The blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by.
I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice; onlyI have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.
The livelong day has passed in spreading his seat on the floor;but the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house.
I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is notyet.
My desires are many and my cry is pitiful, but ever didst thousave me by hard refusals; and this strong mercy has been wroughtinto my life through and through.
Day by day thou art making me worthy of the simple, great giftsthat thou gavest to me unasked--this sky and the light, this bodyand the life and the mind--saving me from perils of overmuchdesire.
There are times when I languidly linger and times when I awakenand hurry in search of my goal; but cruelly thou hidest thyselffrom before me.
Day by day thou art making me worthy of thy full acceptance byrefusing me ever and anon, saving me from perils of weak,uncertain desire.
I am here to sing thee songs. In this hall of thine I have acorner seat.
In thy world I have no work to do; my useless life can only breakout in tunes without a purpose.
When the hour strikes for thy silent worship at the dark templeof midnight, command me, my master, to stand before thee to sing.
When in the morning air the golden harp is tuned, honour me,commanding my presence.
I have had my invitation to this world's festival, and thus mylife has been blessed. My eyes have seen and my ears have heard.
It was my part at this feast to play upon my instrument, and Ihave done all I could.
Now, I ask, has the time come at last when I may go in and seethy face and offer thee my silent salutation?
I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into hishands. That is why it is so late and why I have been guilty ofsuch omissions.
They come with their laws and their codes to bind me fast; but Ievade them ever, for I am only waiting for love to give myself upat last into his hands.
People blame me and call me heedless; I doubt not they are rightin their blame.
The market day is over and work is all done for the busy. Thosewho came to call me in vain have gone back in anger. I am onlywaiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands.
Clouds heap upon clouds and it darkens. Ah, love, why dost thoulet me wait outside at the door all alone?
In the busy moments of the noontide work I am with the crowd, buton this dark lonely day it is only for thee that I hope.
If thou showest me not thy face, if thou leavest me wholly aside,I know not how I am to pass these long, rainy hours.
I keep gazing on the far-away gloom of the sky, and my heartwanders wailing with the restless wind.
If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence andendure it. I will keep still and wait like the night with starryvigil and its head bent low with patience.
The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish, and thyvoice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky.
Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of mybirds' nests, and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in allmy forest groves.
On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying,and I knew it not. My basket was empty and the flower remainedunheeded.
Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up frommy dream and felt a sweet trace of a strange fragrance in thesouth wind.
That vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing and itseemed to me that is was the eager breath of the summer seekingfor its completion.
I knew not then that it was so near, that it was mine, and thatthis perfect sweetness had blossomed in the depth of my ownheart.
I must launch out my boat. The languid hours pass by on theshore--Alas for me!
The spring has done its flowering and taken leave. And now withthe burden of faded futile flowers I wait and linger.
The waves have become clamorous, and upon the bank in the shadylane the yellow leaves flutter and fall.
What emptiness do you gaze upon! Do you not feel a thrillpassing through the air with the notes of the far-away songfloating from the other shore?
In the deep shadows of the rainy July, with secret steps, thouwalkest, silent as night, eluding all watchers.
Today the morning has closed its eyes, heedless of the insistentcalls of the loud east wind, and a thick veil has been drawn overthe ever-wakeful blue sky.
The woodlands have hushed their songs, and doors are all shut atevery house. Thou art the solitary wayfarer in this desertedstreet. Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are openin my house--do not pass by like a dream.
Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love, myfriend? The sky groans like one in despair.
I have no sleep tonight. Ever and again I open my door and lookout on the darkness, my friend!
I can see nothing before me. I wonder where lies thy path!
By what dim shore of the ink-black river, by what far edge of thefrowning forest, through what mazy depth of gloom art thouthreading thy course to come to me, my friend?
If the day is done, if birds sing no more, if the wind hasflagged tired, then draw the veil of darkness thick upon me, evenas thou hast wrapt the earth with the coverlet of sleep andtenderly closed the petals of the drooping lotus at dusk.
From the traveller, whose sack of provisions is empty before thevoyage is ended, whose garment is torn and dustladen, whosestrength is exhausted, remove shame and poverty, and renew hislife like a flower under the cover of thy kindly night.
In the night of weariness let me give myself up to sleep withoutstruggle, resting my trust upon thee.
Let me not force my flagging spirit into a poor preparation forthy worship.
It is thou who drawest the veil of night upon the tired eyes ofthe day to renew its sight in a fresher gladness of awakening.
He came and sat by my side but I woke not. What a cursed sleepit was, O miserable me!
He came when the night was still; he had his harp in his hands,and my dreams became resonant with its melodies.
Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever misshis sight whose breath touches my sleep?
Light, oh where is the light? Kindle it with the burning fire ofdesire!
There is the lamp but never a flicker of a flame--is such thyfate, my heart? Ah, death were better by far for thee!
Misery knocks at thy door, and her message is that thy lord iswakeful, and he calls thee to the love-tryst through the darknessof night.
The sky is overcast with clouds and the rain is ceaseless. Iknow not what this is that stirs in me--I know not its meaning.
A moment's flash of lightning drags down a deeper gloom on mysight, and my heart gropes for the path to where the music of thenight calls me.
Light, oh where is the light! Kindle it with the burning fire ofdesire! It thunders and the wind rushes screaming through thevoid. The night is black as a black stone. Let not the hourspass by in the dark. Kindle the lamp of love with thy life.
Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches when I try tobreak them.
Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel ashamed.
I am certain that priceless wealth is in thee, and that thou artmy best friend, but I have not the heart to sweep away the tinselthat fills my room
The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust and death; I hateit, yet hug it in love.
My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy;yet when I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest myprayer be granted.
He whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon. I amever busy building this wall all around; and as this wall goes upinto the sky day by day I lose sight of my true being in its darkshadow.
I take pride in this great wall, and I plaster it with dust andsand lest a least hole should be left in this name; and for allthe care I take I lose sight of my true being.
I came out alone on my way to my tryst. But who is this thatfollows me in the silent dark?
I move aside to avoid his presence but I escape him not.
He makes the dust rise from the earth with his swagger; he addshis loud voice to every word that I utter.
He is my own little self, my lord, he knows no shame; but I amashamed to come to thy door in his company.
'Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?'
'It was my master,' said the prisoner. 'I thought I could outdoeverybody in the world in wealth and power, and I amassed in myown treasure-house the money due to my king. When sleep overcameme I lay upon the bed that was for my lord, and on waking up Ifound I was a prisoner in my own treasure-house.'
'Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakablechain?'
'It was I,' said the prisoner, 'who forged this chain verycarefully. I thought my invincible power would hold the worldcaptive leaving me in a freedom undisturbed. Thus night and dayI worked at the chain with huge fires and cruel hard strokes.When at last the work was done and the links were complete andunbreakable, I found that it held me in its grip.'
By all means they try to hold me secure who love me in thisworld. But it is otherwise with thy love which is greater thantheirs, and thou keepest me free.
Lest I forget them they never venture to leave me alone. But daypasses by after day and thou art not seen.
If I call not thee in my prayers, if I keep not thee in my heart,thy love for me still waits for my love.
When it was day they came into my house and said, 'We shall onlytake the smallest room here.'
They said, 'We shall help you in the worship of your God andhumbly accept only our own share in his grace'; and then theytook their seat in a corner and they sat quiet and meek.
But in the darkness of night I find they break into my sacredshrine, strong and turbulent, and snatch with unholy greed theofferings from God's altar.
Let only that little be left of me whereby I may name thee myall.
Let only that little be left of my will whereby I may feel theeon every side, and come to thee in everything, and offer to theemy love every moment.
Let only that little be left of me whereby I may never hide thee.
Let only that little of my fetters be left whereby I am boundwith thy will, and thy purpose is carried out in my life--andthat is the fetter of thy love.
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrowdomestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into thedreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thoughtand action--
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
This is my prayer to thee, my lord--strike, strike at the root ofpenury in my heart.
Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows.
Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service.
Give me the strength never to disown the poor or bend my kneesbefore insolent might.
Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles.
And give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy willwith love.
I thought that my voyage had come to its end at the last limit ofmy power,--that the path before me was closed, that provisionswere exhausted and the time come to take shelter in a silentobscurity.
But I find that thy will knows no end in me. And when old wordsdie out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart;and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed withits wonders.
That I want thee, only thee--let my heart repeat without end.All desires that distract me, day and night, are false and emptyto the core.
As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the petition for light,even thus in the depth of my unconsciousness rings the cry--'Iwant thee, only thee'.
As the storm still seeks its end in peace when it strikes againstpeace with all its might, even thus my rebellion strikes againstthy love and still its cry is--'I want thee, only thee'.
When the heart is hard and parched up, come upon me with a showerof mercy.
When grace is lost from life, come with a burst of song.
When tumultuous work raises its din on all sides shutting me outfrom beyond, come to me, my lord of silence, with thy peace andrest.
When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut up in a corner, breakopen the door, my king, and come with the ceremony of a king.
When desire blinds the mind with delusion and dust, O thou holyone, thou wakeful, come with thy light and thy thunder.
The rain has held back for days and days, my God, in my aridheart. The horizon is fiercely naked--not the thinnest cover ofa soft cloud, not the vaguest hint of a distant cool shower.
Send thy angry storm, dark with death, if it is thy wish, andwith lashes of lightning startle the sky from end to end.
But call back, my lord, call back this pervading silent heat,still and keen and cruel, burning the heart with dire despair.
Let the cloud of grace bend low from above like the tearful lookof the mother on the day of the father's wrath.
Where dost thou stand behind them all, my lover, hiding thyselfin the shadows? They push thee and pass thee by on the dustyroad, taking thee for naught. I wait here weary hours spreadingmy offerings for thee, while passers-by come and take my flowers,one by one, and my basket is nearly empty.
The morning time is past, and the noon. In the shade of eveningmy eyes are drowsy with sleep. Men going home glance at me andsmile and fill me with shame. I sit like a beggar maid, drawingmy skirt over my face, and when they ask me, what it is I want, Idrop my eyes and answer them not.
Oh, how, indeed, could I tell them that for thee I wait, and thatthou hast promised to come. How could I utter for shame that Ikeep for my dowry this poverty. Ah, I hug this pride in thesecret of my heart.
I sit on the grass and gaze upon the sky and dream of the suddensplendour of thy coming--all the lights ablaze, golden pennonsflying over thy car, and they at the roadside standing agape,when they see thee come down from thy seat to raise me from thedust, and set at thy side this ragged beggar girl a-tremble withshame and pride, like a creeper in a summer breeze.
But time glides on and still no sound of the wheels of thychariot. Many a procession passes by with noise and shouts andglamour of glory. Is it only thou who wouldst stand in theshadow silent and behind them all? And only I who would wait andweep and wear out my heart in vain longing?
Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat,only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of thisour pilgrimage to no country and to no end.
In that shoreless ocean, at thy silently listening smile my songswould swell in melodies, free as waves, free from all bondage ofwords.
Is the time not come yet? Are there works still to do? Lo, theevening has come down upon the shore and in the fading light theseabirds come flying to their nests.
Who knows when the chains will be off, and the boat, like thelast glimmer of sunset, vanish into the night?
The day was when I did not keep myself in readiness for thee; andentering my heart unbidden even as one of the common crowd,unknown to me, my king, thou didst press the signet of eternityupon many a fleeting moment of my life.
And today when by chance I light upon them and see thy signature,I find they have lain scattered in the dust mixed with the memoryof joys and sorrows of my trivial days forgotten.
Thou didst not turn in contempt from my childish play among dust,and the steps that I heard in my playroom are the same that areechoing from star to star.
This is my delight, thus to wait and watch at the wayside whereshadow chases light and the rain comes in the wake of the summer.
Messengers, with tidings from unknown skies, greet me and speedalong the road. My heart is glad within, and the breath of thepassing breeze is sweet.
From dawn till dusk I sit here before my door, and I know that ofa sudden the happy moment will arrive when I shall see.
In the meanwhile I smile and I sing all alone. In the meanwhilethe air is filling with the perfume of promise.
Have you not heard his silent steps? He comes, comes, evercomes.
Every moment and every age, every day and every night he comes,comes, ever comes.
Many a song have I sung in many a mood of mind, but all theirnotes have always proclaimed, 'He comes, comes, ever comes.'
In the fragrant days of sunny April through the forest path hecomes, comes, ever comes.
In the rainy gloom of July nights on the thundering chariot ofclouds he comes, comes, ever comes.
In sorrow after sorrow it is his steps that press upon my heart,and it is the golden touch of his feet that makes my joy toshine.
I know not from what distant time thou art ever coming nearer tomeet me. Thy sun and stars can never keep thee hidden from mefor aye.
In many a morning and eve thy footsteps have been heard and thymessenger has come within my heart and called me in secret.
I know not only why today my life is all astir, and a feeling oftremulous joy is passing through my heart.
It is as if the time were come to wind up my work, and I feel inthe air a faint smell of thy sweet presence.
The night is nearly spent waiting for him in vain. I fear lestin the morning he suddenly come to my door when I have fallenasleep wearied out. Oh friends, leave the way open to him--forbid him not.
If the sounds of his steps does not wake me, do not try to rouseme, I pray. I wish not to be called from my sleep by theclamorous choir of birds, by the riot of wind at the festival ofmorning light. Let me sleep undisturbed even if my lord comes ofa sudden to my door.
Ah, my sleep, precious sleep, which only waits for his touch tovanish. Ah, my closed eyes that would open their lids only tothe light of his smile when he stands before me like a dreamemerging from darkness of sleep.
Let him appear before my sight as the first of all lights and allforms. The first thrill of joy to my awakened soul let it comefrom his glance. And let my return to myself be immediate returnto him.
The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs; andthe flowers were all merry by the roadside; and the wealth ofgold was scattered through the rift of the clouds while we busilywent on our way and paid no heed.
We sang no glad songs nor played; we went not to the village forbarter; we spoke not a word nor smiled; we lingered not on theway. We quickened our pace more and more as the time sped by.
The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed in the shade.Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon. Theshepherd boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the banyantree, and I laid myself down by the water and stretched my tiredlimbs on the grass.
My companions laughed at me in scorn; they held their heads highand hurried on; they never looked back nor rested; they vanishedin the distant blue haze. They crossed many meadows and hills,and passed through strange, far-away countries. All honour toyou, heroic host of the interminable path! Mockery and reproachpricked me to rise, but found no response in me. I gave myselfup for lost in the depth of a glad humiliation--in the shadow ofa dim delight.
The repose of the sun-embroidered green gloom slowly spread overmy heart. I forgot for what I had travelled, and I surrenderedmy mind without struggle to the maze of shadows and songs.
At last, when I woke from my slumber and opened my eyes, I sawthee standing by me, flooding my sleep with thy smile. How I hadfeared that the path was long and wearisome, and the struggle toreach thee was hard!
You came down from your throne and stood at my cottage door.
I was singing all alone in a corner, and the melody caught yourear. You came down and stood at my cottage door.
Masters are many in your hall, and songs are sung there at allhours. But the simple carol of this novice struck at your love.One plaintive little strain mingled with the great music of theworld, and with a flower for a prize you came down and stopped atmy cottage door.
I had gone a-begging from door to door in the village path, whenthy golden chariot appeared in the distance like a gorgeous dreamand I wondered who was this King of all kings!
My hopes rose high and methought my evil days were at an end, andI stood waiting for alms to be given unasked and for wealthscattered on all sides in the dust.
The chariot stopped where I stood. Thy glance fell on me andthou camest down with a smile. I felt that the luck of my lifehad come at last. Then of a sudden thou didst hold out thy righthand and say 'What hast thou to give to me?'
Ah, what a kingly jest was it to open thy palm to a beggar tobeg! I was confused and stood undecided, and then from my walletI slowly took out the least little grain of corn and gave it tothee.
But how great my surprise when at the day's end I emptied my bagon the floor to find a least little gram of gold among the poorheap. I bitterly wept and wished that I had had the heart togive thee my all.
The night darkened. Our day's works had been done. We thoughtthat the last guest had arrived for the night and the doors inthe village were all shut. Only some said the king was to come.We laughed and said 'No, it cannot be!'
It seemed there were knocks at the door and we said it wasnothing but the wind. We put out the lamps and lay down tosleep. Only some said, 'It is the messenger!' We laughed andsaid 'No, it must be the wind!'
There came a sound in the dead of the night. We sleepily thoughtit was the distant thunder. The earth shook, the walls rocked,and it troubled us in our sleep. Only some said it was the soundof wheels. We said in a drowsy murmur, 'No, it must be therumbling of clouds!'
The night was still dark when the drum sounded. The voice came'Wake up! delay not!' We pressed our hands on our hearts andshuddered with fear. Some said, 'Lo, there is the king's flag!'We stood up on our feet and cried 'There is no time for delay!'
The king has come--but where are lights, where are wreaths?Where is the throne to seat him? Oh, shame! Oh utter shame!Where is the hall, the decorations? Someone has said, 'Vain isthis cry! Greet him with empty hands, lead him into thy roomsall bare!'
Open the doors, let the conch-shells be sounded! in the depth ofthe night has come the king of our dark, dreary house. Thethunder roars in the sky. The darkness shudders with lightning.Bring out thy tattered piece of mat and spread it in thecourtyard. With the storm has come of a sudden our king of thefearful night.
I thought I should ask of thee--but I dared not--the rose wreaththou hadst on thy neck. Thus I waited for the morning, when thoudidst depart, to find a few fragments on the bed. And like abeggar I searched in the dawn only for a stray petal or two.
Ah me, what is it I find? What token left of thy love? It is noflower, no spices, no vase of perfumed water. It is thy mightysword, flashing as a flame, heavy as a bolt of thunder. Theyoung light of morning comes through the window and spreads itselfupon thy bed. The morning bird twitters and asks, 'Woman, whathast thou got?' No, it is no flower, nor spices, nor vase ofperfumed water--it is thy dreadful sword.
I sit and muse in wonder, what gift is this of thine. I can findno place to hide it. I am ashamed to wear it, frail as I am, andit hurts me when I press it to my bosom. Yet shall I bear in myheart this honour of the burden of pain, this gift of thine.
From now there shall be no fear left for me in this world, andthou shalt be victorious in all my strife. Thou hast left deathfor my companion and I shall crown him with my life. Thy swordis with me to cut asunder my bonds, and there shall be no fearleft for me in the world.
From now I leave off all petty decorations. Lord of my heart, nomore shall there be for me waiting and weeping in corners, nomore coyness and sweetness of demeanour. Thou hast given me thysword for adornment. No more doll's decorations for me!
Beautiful is thy wristlet, decked with stars and cunninglywrought in myriad-coloured jewels. But more beautiful to me thysword with its curve of lightning like the outspread wings of thedivine bird of Vishnu, perfectly poised in the angry red light ofthe sunset.
It quivers like the one last response of life in ecstasy of painat the final stroke of death; it shines like the pure flame ofbeing burning up earthly sense with one fierce flash.
Beautiful is thy wristlet, decked with starry gems; but thysword, O lord of thunder, is wrought with uttermost beauty,terrible to behold or think of.
I asked nothing from thee; I uttered not my name to thine ear.When thou took'st thy leave I stood silent. I was alone by thewell where the shadow of the tree fell aslant, and the women hadgone home with their brown earthen pitchers full to the brim.They called me and shouted, 'Come with us, the morning is wearingon to noon.' But I languidly lingered awhile lost in the midstof vague musings.
I heard not thy steps as thou camest. Thine eyes were sad whenthey fell on me; thy voice was tired as thou spokest low--'Ah, Iam a thirsty traveller.' I started up from my day-dreams andpoured water from my jar on thy joined palms. The leaves rustledoverhead; the cuckoo sang from the unseen dark, and perfume of_babla_ flowers came from the bend of the road.
I stood speechless with shame when my name thou didst ask.Indeed, what had I done for thee to keep me in remembrance? Butthe memory that I could give water to thee to allay thy thirstwill cling to my heart and enfold it in sweetness. The morninghour is late, the bird sings in weary notes, _neem_ leavesrustle overhead and I sit and think and think.
Languor is upon your heart and the slumber is still on your eyes.
Has not the word come to you that the flower is reigning insplendour among thorns? Wake, oh awaken! let not the time passin vain!
At the end of the stony path, in the country of virgin solitude,my friend is sitting all alone. Deceive him not. Wake, ohawaken!
What if the sky pants and trembles with the heat of the middaysun--what if the burning sand spreads its mantle of thirst--
Is there no joy in the deep of your heart? At every footfall ofyours, will not the harp of the road break out in sweet music ofpain?
Thus it is that thy joy in me is so full. Thus it is that thouhast come down to me. O thou lord of all heavens, where would bethy love if I were not?
Thou hast taken me as thy partner of all this wealth. In myheart is the endless play of thy delight. In my life thy will isever taking shape.
And for this, thou who art the King of kings hast decked thyselfin beauty to captivate my heart. And for this thy love losesitself in the love of thy lover, and there art thou seen in theperfect union of two.
Light, my light, the world-filling light, the eye-kissing light,heart-sweetening light!
Ah, the light dances, my darling, at the centre of my life; thelight strikes, my darling, the chords of my love; the sky opens,the wind runs wild, laughter passes over the earth.
The butterflies spread their sails on the sea of light. Liliesand jasmines surge up on the crest of the waves of light.
The light is shattered into gold on every cloud, my darling, andit scatters gems in profusion.
Mirth spreads from leaf to leaf, my darling, and gladness withoutmeasure. The heaven's river has drowned its banks and the floodof joy is abroad.
Let all the strains of joy mingle in my last song--the joy thatmakes the earth flow over in the riotous excess of the grass, thejoy that sets the twin brothers, life and death, dancing over thewide world, the joy that sweeps in with the tempest, shaking andwaking all life with laughter, the joy that sits still with itstears on the open red lotus of pain, and the joy that throwseverything it has upon the dust, and knows not a word.
Yes, I know, this is nothing but thy love, O beloved of my heart--this golden light that dances upon the leaves, these idle cloudssailing across the sky, this passing breeze leaving its coolnessupon my forehead.
The morning light has flooded my eyes--this is thy message to myheart. Thy face is bent from above, thy eyes look down on myeyes, and my heart has touched thy feet.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. The infinitesky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous.On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shoutsand dances.
They build their houses with sand and they play with emptyshells. With withered leaves they weave their boats andsmilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have their playon the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearlfishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, whilechildren gather pebbles and scatter them again. they seek notfor hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter and pale gleams the smile of thesea beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to thechildren, even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle.The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the seabeach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roamsin the pathless sky, ships get wrecked in the trackless water,death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endlessworlds is the great meeting of children.
The sleep that flits on baby's eyes--does anybody know from whereit comes? Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling there,in the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit withglow-worms, there hang two timid buds of enchantment. From thereit comes to kiss baby's eyes.
The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps--doesanybody know where it was born? Yes, there is a rumour that ayoung pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of avanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born in thedream of a dew-washed morning--the smile that flickers on baby'slips when he sleeps.
The sweet, soft freshness that blooms on baby's limbs--doesanybody know where it was hidden so long? Yes, when the motherwas a young girl it lay pervading her heart in tender and silentmystery of love--the sweet, soft freshness that has bloomed onbaby's limbs.
When I bring to you coloured toys, my child, I understand whythere is such a play of colours on clouds, on water, and whyflowers are painted in tints--when I give coloured toys to you,my child.
When I sing to make you dance I truly now why there is music inleaves, and why waves send their chorus of voices to the heart ofthe listening earth--when I sing to make you dance.
When I bring sweet things to your greedy hands I know why thereis honey in the cup of the flowers and why fruits are secretlyfilled with sweet juice--when I bring sweet things to your greedyhands.
When I kiss your face to make you smile, my darling, I surelyunderstand what pleasure streams from the sky in morning light,and what delight that is that is which the summer breeze bringsto my body--when I kiss you to make you smile.
Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not. Thou hastgiven me seats in homes not my own. Thou hast brought thedistant near and made a brother of the stranger.
I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter;I forget that there abides the old in the new, and that therealso thou abidest.
Through birth and death, in this world or in others, whereverthou leadest me it is thou, the same, the one companion of myendless life who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to theunfamiliar.
When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door isshut. Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose the bliss ofthe touch of the one in the play of many.
On the slope of the desolate river among tall grasses I askedher, 'Maiden, where do you go shading your lamp with your mantle?My house is all dark and lonesome--lend me your light!' sheraised her dark eyes for a moment and looked at my face throughthe dusk. 'I have come to the river,' she said, 'to float mylamp on the stream when the daylight wanes in the west.' I stoodalone among tall grasses and watched the timid flame of her lampuselessly drifting in the tide.
In the silence of gathering night I asked her, 'Maiden, yourlights are all lit--then where do you go with your lamp? Myhouse is all dark and lonesome--lend me your light.' She raisedher dark eyes on my face and stood for a moment doubtful. 'Ihave come,' she said at last, 'to dedicate my lamp to the sky.'I stood and watched her light uselessly burning in the void.
In the moonless gloom of midnight I ask her, 'Maiden, what isyour quest, holding the lamp near your heart? My house is alldark and lonesome--lend me your light.' She stopped for a minuteand thought and gazed at my face in the dark. 'I have brought mylight,' she said, 'to join the carnival of lamps.' I stood andwatched her little lamp uselessly lost among lights.
What divine drink wouldst thou have, my God, from thisoverflowing cup of my life?
My poet, is it thy delight to see thy creation through my eyesand to stand at the portals of my ears silently to listen tothine own eternal harmony?
Thy world is weaving words in my mind and thy joy is adding musicto them. Thou givest thyself to me in love and then feelestthine own entire sweetness in me.
She who ever had remained in the depth of my being, in thetwilight of gleams and of glimpses; she who never opened herveils in the morning light, will be my last gift to thee, my God,folded in my final song.
Words have wooed yet failed to win her; persuasion has stretchedto her its eager arms in vain.
I have roamed from country to country keeping her in the core ofmy heart, and around her have risen and fallen the growth anddecay of my life.
Over my thoughts and actions, my slumbers and dreams, she reignedyet dwelled alone and apart.
Many a man knocked at my door and asked for her and turned awayin despair.
There was none in the world who ever saw her face to face, andshe remained in her loneliness waiting for thy recognition.
Thou art the sky and thou art the nest as well.
O thou beautiful, there in the nest is thy love that encloses thesoul with colours and sounds and odours.
There comes the morning with the golden basket in her right handbearing the wreath of beauty, silently to crown the earth.
And there comes the evening over the lonely meadows deserted byherds, through trackless paths, carrying cool draughts of peacein her golden pitcher from the western ocean of rest.
But there, where spreads the infinite sky for the soul to takeher flight in, reigns the stainless white radiance. There is noday nor night, nor form nor colour, and never, never a word.
Thy sunbeam comes upon this earth of mine with arms outstretchedand stands at my door the livelong day to carry back to thy feetclouds made of my tears and sighs and songs.
With fond delight thou wrappest about thy starry breast thatmantle of misty cloud, turning it into numberless shapes andfolds and colouring it with hues everchanging.
It is so light and so fleeting, tender and tearful and dark, thatis why thou lovest it, O thou spotless and serene. And that iswhy it may cover thy awful white light with its pathetic shadows.
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and dayruns through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of theearth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuouswaves of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birthand of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world oflife. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in myblood this moment.
Is it beyond thee to be glad with the gladness of this rhythm?to be tossed and lost and broken in the whirl of this fearfuljoy?
All things rush on, they stop not, they look not behind, no powercan hold them back, they rush on.
Keeping steps with that restless, rapid music, seasons comedancing and pass away--colours, tunes, and perfumes pour inendless cascades in the abounding joy that scatters and gives upand dies every moment.
That I should make much of myself and turn it on all sides, thuscasting coloured shadows on thy radiance--such is thy_maya_.
Thou settest a barrier in thine own being and then callest thysevered self in myriad notes. This thy self-separation has takenbody in me.
The poignant song is echoed through all the sky in many-colouredtears and smiles, alarms and hopes; waves rise up and sink again,dreams break and form. In me is thy own defeat of self.
This screen that thou hast raised is painted with innumerablefigures with the brush of the night and the day. Behind it thyseat is woven in wondrous mysteries of curves, casting away allbarren lines of straightness.
The great pageant of thee and me has overspread the sky. Withthe tune of thee and me all the air is vibrant, and all ages passwith the hiding and seeking of thee and me.
He it is, the innermost one, who awakens my being with his deephidden touches.
He it is who puts his enchantment upon these eyes and joyfullyplays on the chords of my heart in varied cadence of pleasure andpain.
He it is who weaves the web of this _maya_ in evanescenthues of gold and silver, blue and green, and lets peep outthrough the folds his feet, at whose touch I forget myself.
Days come and ages pass, and it is ever he who moves my heart inmany a name, in many a guise, in many a rapture of joy and ofsorrow.
Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace offreedom in a thousand bonds of delight.
Thou ever pourest for me the fresh draught of thy wine of variouscolours and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim.
My world will light its hundred different lamps with thy flameand place them before the altar of thy temple.
No, I will never shut the doors of my senses. The delights ofsight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight.
Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy, and allmy desires ripen into fruits of love.
The day is no more, the shadow is upon the earth. It is timethat I go to the stream to fill my pitcher.
The evening air is eager with the sad music of the water. Ah, itcalls me out into the dusk. In the lonely lane there is nopasser-by, the wind is up, the ripples are rampant in the river.
I know not if I shall come back home. I know not whom I shallchance to meet. There at the fording in the little boat theunknown man plays upon his lute.
Thy gifts to us mortals fulfil all our needs and yet run back tothee undiminished.
The river has its everyday work to do and hastens through fieldsand hamlets; yet its incessant stream winds towards the washingof thy feet.
The flower sweetens the air with its perfume; yet its lastservice is to offer itself to thee.
Thy worship does not impoverish the world.
From the words of the poet men take what meanings please them;yet their last meaning points to thee.
Day after day, O lord of my life, shall I stand before thee faceto face. With folded hands, O lord of all worlds, shall I standbefore thee face to face.
Under thy great sky in solitude and silence, with humble heartshall I stand before thee face to face.
In this laborious world of thine, tumultuous with toil and withstruggle, among hurrying crowds shall I stand before thee face toface.
And when my work shall be done in this world, O King of kings,alone and speechless shall I stand before thee face to face.
I know thee as my God and stand apart--I do not know thee as myown and come closer. I know thee as my father and bow before thyfeet--I do not grasp thy hand as my friend's.
I stand not where thou comest down and ownest thyself as mine,there to clasp thee to my heart and take thee as my comrade.
Thou art the Brother amongst my brothers, but I heed them not, Idivide not my earnings with them, thus sharing my all with thee.
In pleasure and in pain I stand not by the side of men, and thusstand by thee. I shrink to give up my life, and thus do notplunge into the great waters of life.
When the creation was new and all the stars shone in their firstsplendour, the gods held their assembly in the sky and sang 'Oh,the picture of perfection! the joy unalloyed!'
But one cried of a sudden--'It seems that somewhere there is abreak in the chain of light and one of the stars has been lost.'
The golden string of their harp snapped, their song stopped, andthey cried in dismay--'Yes, that lost star was the best, she wasthe glory of all heavens!'
From that day the search is unceasing for her, and the cry goeson from one to the other that in her the world has lost its onejoy!
Only in the deepest silence of night the stars smile and whisperamong themselves--'Vain is this seeking! unbroken perfection isover all!'
If it is not my portion to meet thee in this life then let meever feel that I have missed thy sight--let me not forget for amoment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and inmy wakeful hours.
As my days pass in the crowded market of this world and my handsgrow full with the daily profits, let me ever feel that I havegained nothing--let me not forget for a moment, let me carry thepangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.
When I sit by the roadside, tired and panting, when I spread mybed low in the dust, let me ever feel that the long journey isstill before me--let me not forget a moment, let me carry thepangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.
When my rooms have been decked out and the flutes sound and thelaughter there is loud, let me ever feel that I have not invitedthee to my house--let me not forget for a moment, let me carrythe pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.
I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn uselessly roaming in thesky, O my sun ever-glorious! Thy touch has not yet melted myvapour, making me one with thy light, and thus I count months andyears separated from thee.
If this be thy wish and if this be thy play, then take thisfleeting emptiness of mine, paint it with colours, gild it withgold, float it on the wanton wind and spread it in variedwonders.
And again when it shall be thy wish to end this play at night, Ishall melt and vanish away in the dark, or it may be in a smileof the white morning, in a coolness of purity transparent.
On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time. But it isnever lost, my lord. Thou hast taken every moment of my life inthine own hands.
Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds intosprouts, buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers intofruitfulness.
I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed and imagined all work hadceased. In the morning I woke up and found my garden full withwonders of flowers.
Time is endless in thy hands, my lord. There is none to countthy minutes.
Days and nights pass and ages bloom and fade like flowers. Thouknowest how to wait.
Thy centuries follow each other perfecting a small wild flower.
We have no time to lose, and having no time we must scramble fora chances. We are too poor to be late.
And thus it is that time goes by while I give it to everyquerulous man who claims it, and thine altar is empty of allofferings to the last.
At the end of the day I hasten in fear lest thy gate to be shut;but I find that yet there is time.
Mother, I shall weave a chain of pearls for thy neck with mytears of sorrow.
The stars have wrought their anklets of light to deck thy feet,but mine will hang upon thy breast.
Wealth and fame come from thee and it is for thee to give or towithhold them. But this my sorrow is absolutely mine own, andwhen I bring it to thee as my offering thou rewardest me with thygrace.
It is the pang of separation that spreads throughout the worldand gives birth to shapes innumerable in the infinite sky.
It is this sorrow of separation that gazes in silence all nightsfrom star to star and becomes lyric among rustling leaves inrainy darkness of July.
It is this overspreading pain that deepens into loves anddesires, into sufferings and joy in human homes; and this it isthat ever melts and flows in songs through my poet's heart.
When the warriors came out first from their master's hall, wherehad they hid their power? Where were their armour and theirarms?
They looked poor and helpless, and the arrows were showered uponthem on the day they came out from their master's hall.
When the warriors marched back again to their master's hall wheredid they hide their power?
They had dropped the sword and dropped the bow and the arrow;peace was on their foreheads, and they had left the fruits oftheir life behind them on the day they marched back again totheir master's hall.
Death, thy servant, is at my door. He has crossed the unknownsea and brought thy call to my home.
The night is dark and my heart is fearful--yet I will take up thelamp, open my gates and bow to him my welcome. It is thymessenger who stands at my door.
I will worship him placing at his feet the treasure of my heart.
He will go back with his errand done, leaving a dark shadow on mymorning; and in my desolate home only my forlorn self will remainas my last offering to thee.
In desperate hope I go and search for her in all the corners ofmy room; I find her not.
My house is small and what once has gone from it can never beregained.
But infinite is thy mansion, my lord, and seeking her I have tocome to thy door.
I stand under the golden canopy of thine evening sky and I liftmy eager eyes to thy face.
I have come to the brink of eternity from which nothing canvanish--no hope, no happiness, no vision of a face seen throughtears.
Oh, dip my emptied life into that ocean, plunge it into thedeepest fullness. Let me for once feel that lost sweet touch inthe allness of the universe.
Deity of the ruined temple! The broken strings of _Vina_sing no more your praise. The bells in the evening proclaim notyour time of worship. The air is still and silent about you.
In your desolate dwelling comes the vagrant spring breeze. Itbrings the tidings of flowers--the flowers that for your worshipare offered no more.
Your worshipper of old wanders ever longing for favour stillrefused. In the eventide, when fires and shadows mingle with thegloom of dust, he wearily comes back to the ruined temple withhunger in his heart.
Many a festival day comes to you in silence, deity of the ruinedtemple. Many a night of worship goes away with lamp unlit.
Many new images are built by masters of cunning art and carriedto the holy stream of oblivion when their time is come.
Only the deity of the ruined temple remains unworshipped indeathless neglect.
No more noisy, loud words from me--such is my master's will.Henceforth I deal in whispers. The speech of my heart will becarried on in murmurings of a song.
Men hasten to the King's market. All the buyers and sellers arethere. But I have my untimely leave in the middle of the day, inthe thick of work.
Let then the flowers come out in my garden, though it is nottheir time; and let the midday bees strike up their lazy hum.
Full many an hour have I spent in the strife of the good and theevil, but now it is the pleasure of my playmate of the empty daysto draw my heart on to him; and I know not why is this suddencall to what useless inconsequence!
On the day when death will knock at thy door what wilt thou offerto him?
Oh, I will set before my guest the full vessel of my life--I willnever let him go with empty hands.
All the sweet vintage of all my autumn days and summer nights,all the earnings and gleanings of my busy life will I placebefore him at the close of my days when death will knock at mydoor.
O thou the last fulfilment of life, Death, my death, come andwhisper to me!
Day after day I have kept watch for thee; for thee have I bornethe joys and pangs of life.
All that I am, that I have, that I hope and all my love have everflowed towards thee in depth of secrecy. One final glance fromthine eyes and my life will be ever thine own.
The flowers have been woven and the garland is ready for thebridegroom. After the wedding the bride shall leave her home andmeet her lord alone in the solitude of night.
I know that the day will come when my sight of this earth shallbe lost, and life will take its leave in silence, drawing thelast curtain over my eyes.
Yet stars will watch at night, and morning rise as before, andhours heave like sea waves casting up pleasures and pains.
When I think of this end of my moments, the barrier of themoments breaks and I see by the light of death thy world with itscareless treasures. Rare is its lowliest seat, rare is itsmeanest of lives.
Things that I longed for in vain and things that I got--let thempass. Let me but truly possess the things that I ever spurnedand overlooked.
I have got my leave. Bid me farewell, my brothers! I bow to youall and take my departure.
Here I give back the keys of my door--and I give up all claims tomy house. I only ask for last kind words from you.
We were neighbours for long, but I received more than I couldgive. Now the day has dawned and the lamp that lit my darkcorner is out. A summons has come and I am ready for my journey.
At this time of my parting, wish me good luck, my friends! Thesky is flushed with the dawn and my path lies beautiful.
Ask not what I have with me to take there. I start on my journeywith empty hands and expectant heart.
I shall put on my wedding garland. Mine is not the red-browndress of the traveller, and though there are dangers on the way Ihave no fear in mind.
The evening star will come out when my voyage is done and theplaintive notes of the twilight melodies be struck up from theKing's gateway.
I was not aware of the moment when I first crossed the thresholdof this life.
What was the power that made me open out into this vast mysterylike a bud in the forest at midnight!
When in the morning I looked upon the light I felt in a momentthat I was no stranger in this world, that the inscrutablewithout name and form had taken me in its arms in the form of myown mother.
Even so, in death the same unknown will appear as ever known tome. And because I love this life, I know I shall love death aswell.
The child cries out when from the right breast the mother takesit away, in the very next moment to find in the left one itsconsolation.
When I go from hence let this be my parting word, that what Ihave seen is unsurpassable.
I have tasted of the hidden honey of this lotus that expands onthe ocean of light, and thus am I blessed--let this be my partingword.
In this playhouse of infinite forms I have had my play and herehave I caught sight of him that is formless.
My whole body and my limbs have thrilled with his touch who isbeyond touch; and if the end comes here, let it come--let this bemy parting word.
When my play was with thee I never questioned who thou wert. Iknew nor shyness nor fear, my life was boisterous.
In the early morning thou wouldst call me from my sleep like myown comrade and lead me running from glade to glade.
On those days I never cared to know the meaning of songs thousangest to me. Only my voice took up the tunes, and my heartdanced in their cadence.
Now, when the playtime is over, what is this sudden sight that iscome upon me? The world with eyes bent upon thy feet stands inawe with all its silent stars.
I will deck thee with trophies, garlands of my defeat. It isnever in my power to escape unconquered.
I surely know my pride will go to the wall, my life will burstits bonds in exceeding pain, and my empty heart will sob out inmusic like a hollow reed, and the stone will melt in tears.
I surely know the hundred petals of a lotus will not remainclosed for ever and the secret recess of its honey will be bared.
From the blue sky an eye shall gaze upon me and summon me insilence. Nothing will be left for me, nothing whatever, andutter death shall I receive at thy feet.
When I give up the helm I know that the time has come for thee totake it. What there is to do will be instantly done. Vain isthis struggle.
Then take away your hands and silently put up with your defeat,my heart, and think it your good fortune to sit perfectly stillwhere you are placed.
These my lamps are blown out at every little puff of wind, andtrying to light them I forget all else again and again.
But I shall be wise this time and wait in the dark, spreading mymat on the floor; and whenever it is thy pleasure, my lord, comesilently and take thy seat here.
I dive down into the depth of the ocean of forms, hoping to gainthe perfect pearl of the formless.
No more sailing from harbour to harbour with this my weather-beaten boat. The days are long passed when my sport was to betossed on waves.
And now I am eager to die into the deathless.
Into the audience hall by the fathomless abyss where swells upthe music of toneless strings I shall take this harp of my life.
I shall tune it to the notes of forever, and when it has sobbedout its last utterance, lay down my silent harp at the feet ofthe silent.
Ever in my life have I sought thee with my songs. It was theywho led me from door to door, and with them have I felt about me,searching and touching my world.
It was my songs that taught me all the lessons I ever learnt;they showed me secret paths, they brought before my sight many astar on the horizon of my heart.
They guided me all the day long to the mysteries of the countryof pleasure and pain, and, at last, to what palace gate have thebrought me in the evening at the end of my journey?
I boasted among men that I had known you. They see your picturesin all works of mine. They come and ask me, 'Who is he?' I knownot how to answer them. I say, 'Indeed, I cannot tell.' Theyblame me and they go away in scorn. And you sit there smiling.
I put my tales of you into lasting songs. The secret gushes outfrom my heart. They come and ask me, 'Tell me all yourmeanings.' I know not how to answer them. I say, 'Ah, who knowswhat they mean!' They smile and go away in utter scorn. And yousit there smiling.
In one salutation to thee, my God, let all my senses spread outand touch this world at thy feet.
Like a rain-cloud of July hung low with its burden of unshedshowers let all my mind bend down at thy door in one salutationto thee.
Let all my songs gather together their diverse strains into asingle current and flow to a sea of silence in one salutation tothee.
Like a flock of homesick cranes flying night and day back totheir mountain nests let all my life take its voyage to itseternal home in one salutation to thee.
