Thou hast made me endless， such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel

    thou emptiest again and again， and fillest it ever with fresh life.

    This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales，

    and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.

    At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in

    joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.

    Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.

    Ages pass， and still thou pourest， and still there is room to fill.

    2

    When thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart would break

    with pride； and I look to thy face， and tears come to my eyes.

    All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet

    harmony——and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its

    flight across the sea.

    I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. I know that only as a

    singer I come before thy presence.

    I touch by the edge of the far-spreading wing of my song thy feet

    which I could never aspire to reach.

    Drunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend who

    art my lord.

    3

    I know not how thou singest， my master！ I ever listen in silent

    amazement.

    The light of thy music illumines the world. The life breath of thy

    music runs from sky to sky. The holy stream of thy music breaks

    through all stony obstacles and rushes on.

    My heart longs to join in thy song， but vainly struggles for a voice.

    I would speak， but speech breaks not into song， and I cry out baffled.

    Ah， thou hast made my heart captive in the endless meshes of thy

    music， my master！

    4

    Life of my life， I shall ever try to keep my body pure， knowing that

    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 of reason in my

    mind.

    I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep my

    love in flower， knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine

    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.

    5

    I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. The works that I

    have in hand I will finish afterwards.

    Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite，

    and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.

    Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs； and

    the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering

    grove.

    Now it is time to sit quite， face to face with thee， and to sing

    dedication of live in this silent and overflowing leisure.

    6

    Pluck this little flower and take it， delay not！ I fear lest it droop

    and drop into the dust. I may not find a place in thy garland， but

    honour it with a touch of pain from thy hand and pluck it. I fear lest

    the day end before I am aware， and the time of offering go by. Though

    its colour be not deep and its smell be faint， use this flower in thy

    service and pluck it while there is time.

    7

    My song has put off her adornments. She has no pride of dress and

    decoration. Ornaments would mar our union； they would come between

    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 and straight，

    like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.

    8

    The child who is decked with prince's robes and who has jewelled

    chains round his neck loses all pleasure in his play； his dress

    hampers him at every step.

    In fear that it may be frayed， or stained with dust he keeps himself

    from the world， and is afraid even to move.

    Mother， it is no gain， thy bondage of finery， if it keeps one shut off

    from the healthful dust of the earth， if it rob one of the right of

    entrance to the great fair of common human life.

    9

    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 never look

    behind in regret.

    Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it touches with

    its breath. It is unholy——take not thy gifts through its unclean

    hands. Accept only what is offered by sacred love.

    10

    Here is thy footstool and there rest thy feet where live the poorest，

    and lowliest， and lost.

    When I try to bow to thee， my obeisance cannot reach down to the depth

    where thy feet rest among the poorest， and lowliest， and lost.

    Pride can never approach to where thou walkest in the clothes of the

    humble among the poorest， and lowliest， and lost.

    My heart can never find its way to where thou keepest company with the

    companionless among the poorest， the lowliest， and the lost.

    11

    Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads！ Whom dost thou

    worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut？

    Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee！

    He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and where the

    pathmaker is breaking stones. He is with them in sun and in shower，

    and his garment is covered with dust. Put of thy holy mantle and even

    like him come down on the dusty soil！

    Deliverance？ Where is this deliverance to be found？ Our master himself

    has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation； he is bound with us

    all for ever.

    Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers and incense！

    What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered and stained？ Meet

    him and stand by him in toil and in sweat of thy brow.

    12

    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， and pursued my

    voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a

    star and planet.

    It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself， and that

    training is the most intricate which leads to the utter simplicity of

    a tune.

    The traveller has to knock at every alien door to come to his own， and

    one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost

    shrine at the end.

    My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut them and said `Here art

    thou！'

    The question and the cry `Oh， where？' melt into tears of a thousand

    streams and deluge the world with the flood of the assurance `I am！'

    13

    The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.

    I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument.

    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； only I

    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 not yet.

    14

    My desires are many and my cry is pitiful， but ever didst thou save me

    by hard refusals； and this strong mercy has been wrought into my life

    through and through.

    Day by day thou art making me worthy of the simple， great gifts that

    thou gavest to me unasked——this sky and the light， this body and the

    life and the mind——saving me from perils of overmuch desire.

    There are times when I languidly linger and times when I awaken and

    hurry in search of my goal； but cruelly thou hidest thyself from

    before me.

    Day by day thou art making me worthy of thy full acceptance by

    refusing me ever and anon， saving me from perils of weak， uncertain

    desire.

    15

    I am here to sing thee songs. In this hall of thine I have a corner

    seat.

    In thy world I have no work to do； my useless life can only break out

    in tunes without a purpose.

    When the hour strikes for thy silent worship at the dark temple of

    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.

    16

    I have had my invitation to this world's festival， and thus my life

    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 I have

    done all I could.

    Now， I ask， has the time come at last when I may go in and see thy

    face and offer thee my silent salutation？

    17

    I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands.

    That is why it is so late and why I have been guilty of such

    omissions.

    They come with their laws and their codes to bind me fast； but I evade

    them ever， for I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last

    into his hands.

    People blame me and call me heedless； I doubt not they are right in

    their blame.

    The market day is over and work is all done for the busy. Those who

    came to call me in vain have gone back in anger. I am only waiting for

    love to give myself up at last into his hands.

    18

    Clouds heap upon clouds and it darkens. Ah， love， why dost thou let me

    wait outside at the door all alone？

    In the busy moments of the noontide work I am with the crowd， but on

    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 heart wanders

    wailing with the restless wind.

    19

    If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure

    it. I will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil and

    its head bent low with patience.

    The morning will surely come， the darkness will vanish， and thy voice

    pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky.

    Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of my birds'

    nests， and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest

    groves.

    20

    On the day when the lotus bloomed， alas， my mind was straying， and I

    knew it not. My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.

    Only now and again a sadness fell upon me， and I started up from my

    dream and felt a sweet trace of a strange fragrance in the south wind.

    That vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing and it seemed to

    me that is was the eager breath of the summer seeking for its

    completion.

    I knew not then that it was so near， that it was mine， and that this

    perfect sweetness had blossomed in the depth of my own heart.

    21

    I must launch out my boat. The languid hours pass by on the

    shore——Alas for me！

    The spring has done its flowering and taken leave. And now with the

    burden of faded futile flowers I wait and linger.

    The waves have become clamorous， and upon the bank in the shady lane

    the yellow leaves flutter and fall.

    What emptiness do you gaze upon！ Do you not feel a thrill passing

    through the air with the notes of the far-away song floating from the

    other shore？

    22

    In the deep shadows of the rainy July， with secret steps， thou

    walkest， silent as night， eluding all watchers.

    Today the morning has closed its eyes， heedless of the insistent calls

    of the loud east wind， and a thick veil has been drawn over the

    ever-wakeful blue sky.

    The woodlands have hushed their songs， and doors are all shut at every

    house. Thou art the solitary wayfarer in this deserted street. Oh my

    only friend， my best beloved， the gates are open in my house——do not

    pass by like a dream.

    23

    Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love， my

    friend？ The sky groans like one in despair.

    I have no sleep tonight. Ever and again I open my door and look out 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 the

    frowning forest， through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading

    thy course to come to me， my friend？

    24

    If the day is done， if birds sing no more， if the wind has flagged

    tired， then draw the veil of darkness thick upon me， even as thou hast

    wrapt the earth with the coverlet of sleep and tenderly closed the

    petals of the drooping lotus at dusk.

    From the traveller， whose sack of provisions is empty before the

    voyage is ended， whose garment is torn and dustladen， whose strength

    is exhausted， remove shame and poverty， and renew his life like a

    flower under the cover of thy kindly night.

    25

    In the night of weariness let me give myself up to sleep without

    struggle， resting my trust upon thee.

    Let me not force my flagging spirit into a poor preparation for thy

    worship.

    It is thou who drawest the veil of night upon the tired eyes of the

    day to renew its sight in a fresher gladness of awakening.