Page:Echoes from East and West.pdf/42

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.