Page:Original manuscript of Gitanjali - Rabindranath Tagore - Rothenstein collection.pdf/133

 Time is endless in thy hands, my lord. There is none to count thy minutes. Days and nights pass by and ages bloom and fade like flowers. Thou knowest how to wait. Thy centuries follow each other perfecting a small wild flower.

have no time to lose, and therefore with we there is such a mad scramble for opportunities. We are too poor to be late. And thus it is that time goes by to pay my dues to every quarrelous claimant and thy altar remains empty of all offerings to the last. At the end of the day I hasten in fear lest thy gate be shut and but I find that yet there is time.