Page:Echoes from East and West.pdf/42

22 As long thy money thou canst earn, To thee thy family will turn; Then, when with age thy frame is weak, No one to thee a word will speak.

From lust, rage, thirst and error free, “What thing am I?” the wise will see; The dullard, of self-knowledge reft, To rot for e’er in hell is left.

Let fanes and tree-roots give thee rest, The ground a bed, deer-skins a vest; For, is there any, that doth ﬁnd, With passion gone, no bliss of mind?

The boy is only fond of play, And with a maid the youth is gay, The old man is immersed in care, But no one clings to Brahma e’er.

A foe or friend, a son or mate, Treat thou with neither love nor hate; Be equal-minded ev’rywhere, If thou for Vishnuhood dost care.

As thou wast born, so shalt thou die, And in a mother’s womb shalt lie; This evil of the world is plain;— What bliss, then, wilt thou hope to gain?

Lo, day and night, and eve and morn, And spring and winter, all return; Time flies, the term of life is done— Yet airy hope is left by none.