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rature up my It is he, the innermostone, who wakens consciousness with his deep hidden touches. It is he who reads magic incantations upon my eyes, and joyfully plays an on the chords of my heart in varied cadence of pleasure and pain. It is he who weaves the web of this maya in evanescent hues og gold and silver, blue and green, and through its to lets peep his feet at whose touch I forget my self, Days come and ages pass , and it is ever he who moves my many many desting of bliss and sorrow. my heart in in many aquise, in 38
