Page:The Spirit Of Oriental Poetry.pdf/13

 THE DIVINE POET are mere rank and file. In the peace of His presence thinking is sickly restlessness. It is the dominion of soul over the splendours of mind.

Poetry is a perennial stream that flows out of this fountain of life. It is the samadhi of ages. The infinite behind the poet infects us with life. No other poetry can equal, in its subjective effect upon us, the simple saying of these poet-prophets. There are poems in their aspect; their words are life; their memory  is  fragrance  of  soul. Fixing our  attention  on  them  is  the  most  practical  way  of  discovering  our  own  soul. The remembrance  of  their  names  is  our  ethics;  repetition  of  the  sacred  names is our religion. They are our perennial inspiration.

Repeat Christ, Buddha, Guru Nanak, Upanishadas and the Koran, basking in the joy of soul they give;  do  so  for  years  and  you  cannot  exhaust  their  meaning,  nor  effect. Like particles  of  radium, those words go on forever emitting their rays. Millions daily read the Koran and the Bible, and there is life for millions more in them. Lenins may hang the bishops, but every grass blade will stand up to vindicate the faith of Jesus Christ.

What art can be so generous as the supreme art of the Lord of peace. Sakya Muni bathes the world in peace and ecstasy. Nirvana is realized by widows, girls, beggars and princes. The courtesan cries: “I am Buddha! I am Buddha!”

A gopika of Vrindavanam is going with her red earthen pitcher to fetch water from the river Jumna. The blue Krishna shoots the arrow from his bow as she is wending her way homeward with the pitcher full of water. His arrow breaks the pitcher. She