Thou hast made me endless， such is thy pleasure. This frail1 vessel2
thou emptiest again and again， and fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute3 of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales，
and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal4 touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in
joy and gives birth to utterance5 ineffable6.
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 dissonant7 in my life melts into one sweet
harmonyand my adoration8 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 aspire9 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
amazement10.
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 stony11 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 meshes12 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 kindled13 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 shrine14
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 respite15，
and my work becomes an endless toil16 in a shoreless sea of toil.
Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs17； and
the bees are plying18 their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering
grove19.
Now it is time to sit quite， face to face with thee， and to sing
dedication20 of live in this silent and overflowing21 leisure.
6
Pluck this little flower and take it， delay not！ I fear lest it droop22
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. Ornaments23 would mar24 our union； they would come between
thee and me； their jingling25 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
hampers26 him at every step.
In fear that it may be frayed27， or stained with dust he keeps himself
from the world， and is afraid even to move.
Mother， it is no gain， thy bondage28 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 unholytake 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 obeisance29 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
humble30 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 beads31！ 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 mantle32 and even
like him come down on the dusty soil！
Deliverance？ Where is this deliverance to be found？ Our master himself
has joyfully33 taken upon him the bonds of creation； he is bound with us
all for ever.
Come out of thy meditations34 and leave aside thy flowers and incense35！
What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered36 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 wildernesses37 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 simplicity38 of
a tune39.
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 deluge40 the world with the flood of the assurance `I am！'
13
The song that I came to sing remains41 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 wrought42 into my life
through and through.
Day by day thou art making me worthy43 of the simple， great gifts that
thou gavest to me unaskedthis sky and the light， this body and the
life and the mindsaving me from perils44 of overmuch desire.
There are times when I languidly linger and times when I awaken45 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 tunes46 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 harp47 is tuned48， 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
omissions49.
They come with their laws and their codes to bind50 me fast； but I evade51
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
wailing52 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 starry53 vigil and
its head bent54 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 forth55 in flowers in all my forest
groves56.
20
On the day when the lotus bloomed， alas57， 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 fragrance58 in the south wind.
That vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing59 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
shoreAlas for me！
The spring has done its flowering and taken leave. And now with the
burden of faded futile60 flowers I wait and linger.
The waves have become clamorous61， 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， eluding62 all watchers.
Today the morning has closed its eyes， heedless of the insistent63 calls
of the loud east wind， and a thick veil has been drawn64 over the
ever-wakeful blue sky.
The woodlands have hushed their songs， and doors are all shut at every
house. Thou art the solitary65 wayfarer66 in this deserted67 street. Oh my
only friend， my best beloved， the gates are open in my housedo not
pass by like a dream.
23
Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love， my
friend？ The sky groans68 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
petals69 of the drooping70 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 exhausted71， remove shame and poverty， and renew his life like a
flower under the cover of thy kindly72 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 awakening73.
