I hear their voices in the Wind
Rushing through the reeds on the river-bank;
I hear their Song in the surge
Of the Sindhu, Ever-flowing, Ever-full:—
India the First-born,—
India the Ancient,—
India is fettered;
To live is to cast away fear and be Free.
Comrades! Will ye still be slumbering.
Afraid of the Light?
Will ye still be sheltered in weakness
Dreaming away your powers in passion and pride,
While a Procession of the pure who are strong.
And the brave who are meek,
Moves on to the music of love a-singing:—
“India the First-born, soon shall be Free.”