With folded hands, O lord of all worlds, shall I stand before thee face to face. Thy worship does not impoverish the world.įrom the words of the poet men take what meanings please them yet their last meaning points to thee.ĭay after day, O lord of my life, shall I stand before thee face to face. The flower sweetens the air with its perfume yet its last service is to offer itself to thee. The river has its everyday work to do and hastens through fields and hamlets yet its incessant stream winds towards the washing of thy feet. Thy gifts to us mortals fulfil all our needs and yet run back to thee undiminished. There at the fording in the little boat the unknown man plays upon his lute. In the lonely lane there is no passerby, the wind is up, the ripples are rampant in the river. The evening air is eager with the sad music of the water. It is time that I go to the stream to fill my pitcher. The day is no more, the shadow is upon the earth. Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy, and all my desires ripen into fruits of love.
The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight. No, I will never shut the doors of my senses. My world will light its hundred different lamps with thy flame and place them before the altar of thy temple. Thou ever pourest for me the fresh draught of thy wine of various colours and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight. He it is who weaves the web of this maya in evanescent hues of gold and silver, blue and green, and lets peep out through the folds his feet, at whose touch I forget myself.ĭays come and ages pass, and it is ever he who moves my heart in many a name, in many a guise, in many a rapture of joy and of sorrow.ĭeliverance is not for me in renunciation. He it is who puts his enchantment upon these eyes and joyfully plays on the chords of my heart in varied cadence of pleasure and pain. He it is, the innermost one, who awakens my being with his deep hidden touches. With the tune of thee and me all the air is vibrant, and all ages pass with the hiding and seeking of thee and me. The great pageant of thee and me has overspread the sky. Behind it thy seat is woven in wondrous mysteries of curves, casting away all barren lines of straightness. This screen that thou hast raised is painted with innumerable figures with the brush of the night and the day.
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