Of self and passions' bustling stir around!
For he re-lit the lamp of Knowledge, where
Her crystal light had been for ages quenched,
And all his heart and soul and means employed
In serving selflessly an ancient race,
Borne down by wars and robber-hordes, and pining
In the deep gloom of Freedom's longest night.
His life was but a stream of golden deeds,
A white page undefiled by blur or blot;
And so he left a blessed name behind,
A name told on the heart's own rosary.
Methinks I see a merry troop of boys
Gathered round him, the centre of their sports;
And as the fun goes round, loud ringing peals
Of elfin laughter greet each sprightly prank
The little folk—spring-flowers of innocence—
Invent, to speed the joyous hours away.
And he the while views them with glistening eyes,
Or joins them in their sports, more blithe and gay
Than even the merriest, playfullest of them;
Or now and then, as they fall out, decides
Their little suits, and harmony restores.
Blest spirit hallowed be thy name, and cherished
In kind remembrance to the verge of time!
Hymn to Durga.
HAIL Mighty Goddess! Universal Soul!
Power or Love, Fate or Illusion sweet!
Whate'er thy name, O mother, whose control
All nature quickens—humbly thee I greet!
Hail! ten-armed Goddess of the lion-throne,
Whose power Time and Space and Being own!
The seed of things was in thy mighty womb,
Their source prolific, and their final doom!
