TO A BUDDHA SEATED ON A LOTUS

    Lord Buddha, on thy Lotus-throne, With praying eyes and hands elate, What mystic rapture dost thou own, Immutable and ultimate？ What peace, unravished of our ken, Annihilate from the world of men？

    The wind of change for ever blows Across the tumult of our way, Tomorrow's unborn griefs depose The sorrows of our yesterday. Dream yields to dream, strife follows strife,