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Trust, trust the Self Supreme.
The restlessness of Soul is due
To faith in things that seem
The things that fleet as fog or dew,
The way to keep you fresh and new,
To every secret treasure due,
Is to assert the real Self
And to deny deluding pelf.
There is no duty to be done
For you, O everything, O One!
Why chafe and worry o’er the work,
Feel, feel the Truth, anxiety shirk.
Believe not when the people say,
"Oh, what a fine game you play!"
Believe not, never, in their praise,
No, ne’er can acts degrade or raise.
I never did a personal deed,
Impersonal Lord I am indeed.
In vain the raving critics fought;
The dupes of senses know me not.
I am for each and all the home,
I am the Om! the Om! the Om!
O happy, happy, happy Rama!
Serene and peaceful, tranquil, calm.
My joy can nothing, nothing mar,
My course can nothing, nothing bar.
My livery wear gods, men and birds.
My bliss supreme transcendeth words.
Here, there, and everywhere;
There, where no more a "Where?"
Now, ever, anon and then;
Then, when’s no more a "When?"
This, that and which and what;
That, that’s above "What?"
First, last and mid and high
The One beyond a "Why?"
One, five and hundred, All,
Transcending number, one and all.
The subject, object, knowledge, sight;
E’en that description is not right.
Was, is, and e’er shall be,
Confounder of the verb "to be."
The sweetest Self, the truest Me.
No Me, no Thee, no He.
The Infinite is that, the Infinite this;
And on and on, unchanged is Infinite.
Goes out the Infinite from the Infinite
And there remains unchanged the Infinite.
The outward loss betrays the Infinite,
The seeming gain displays the Infinite,
The going, coming, substracting, adding
Are seeming mode and truth the Infinite.
O, what a charm marvellous spreads,
Over every hill and dale,
Wond’rous blue and green my beds
Charming every red and pale.
Glorious, glorious light it sheds
Over every storm and hail,
Beauteous, beauteous one and all,
Heavenly, heavenly blessd call. |
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