I thought that my voyage had come to its end

at the last limit of my power,---that the path before me was closed,

that provisions were exhausted

and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.

But I find that thy will knows no end in me.

And when old words die out on the tongue,

new melodies break forth from the heart;

and where the old tracks are lost,

new country is revealed with its wonders.

This is my prayer to thee, my lord---strike,

strike at the root of penury in my heart.

Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows.

Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service.

Give me the strength never to disown the poor

or bend my knees before insolent might.

Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles.

And give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy will with love.

Let only that little be left of me

whereby I may name thee my all.

Let only that little be left of my will

whereby I may feel thee on every side,

and come to thee in everything,

and offer to thee my love every moment.

Let only that little be left of me

whereby I may never hide thee.

Let only that little of my fetters be left

whereby I am bound with thy will,

and thy purpose is carried out in my life---and that is the fetter of thy love.

By all means they try to hold me secure who love me in this world.

But it is otherwise with thy love which is greater than theirs,

and thou keepest me free.

Lest I forget them they never venture to leave me alone.

But day passes by after day and thou art not seen.

If I call not thee in my prayers, if I keep not thee in my heart,

thy love for me still waits for my love.

`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?'

`It was my master,' said the prisoner.

`I thought I could outdo everybody in the world in wealth and power,

and I amassed in my own treasure-house the money due to my king.

When sleep overcame me I lay upon the bed that was for my lord,

and on waking up I found I was a prisoner in my own treasure-house.'

`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?'

`It was I,' said the prisoner, `who forged this chain very carefully.

I thought my invincible power would hold the world captive

leaving me in a freedom undisturbed.

Thus night and day I worked at the chain

with huge fires and cruel hard strokes.

When at last the work was done

and the links were complete and unbreakable,

I came out alone on my way to my tryst.

But who is this that follows me in the silent dark?

I move aside to avoid his presence but I escape him not.

He makes the dust rise from the earth with his swagger;

he adds his loud voice to every word that I utter.

He is my own little self, my lord, he knows no shame;

but I am ashamed to come to thy door in his company.

He whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon.

I am ever busy building this wall all around; and as this wall goes up into

the sky day by day I lose sight of my true being in its dark shadow.

I take pride in this great wall, and I plaster it with dust and sand

lest a least hole should be left in this name;

and for all the care I take I lose sight of my true being.

Light, oh where is the light?

Kindle it with the burning fire of desire!

There is the lamp but never a flicker of a flame---is such thy fate, my heart?

Ah, death were better by far for thee!

Misery knocks at thy door,

and her message is that thy lord is wakeful,

and he calls thee to the love-tryst through the darkness of night.

The sky is overcast with clouds and the rain is ceaseless.

I know not what this is that stirs in me---I know not its meaning.

A moment's flash of lightning drags down a deeper gloom on my sight,

and my heart gropes for the path to where the music of the night calls me.

Light, oh where is the light!

Kindle it with the burning fire of desire!

It thunders and the wind rushes screaming through the void.

The night is black as a black stone.

Let not the hours pass by in the dark.

Kindle the lamp of love with thy life.

In the night of weariness

let me give myself up to sleep without struggle,

resting my trust upon thee.

Let me not force my flagging spirit into a poor preparation for thy worship.

It is thou who drawest the veil of night upon the tired eyes of the day

to renew its sight in a fresher gladness of awakening.

If the day is done,

if birds sing no more,

if the wind has flagged tired,

then draw the veil of darkness thick upon me,

even as thou hast wrapt the earth with the coverlet of sleep

and tenderly closed the petals of the drooping lotus at dusk.

From the traveler,

whose sack of provisions is empty before the voyage is ended,

whose garment is torn and dust-laden,

whose strength is exhausted,

remove shame and poverty,

and renew his life like a flower under the cover of thy kindly night.

Art thou abroad on this stormy night

on thy journey of love, my friend?

The sky groans like one in despair.

I have no sleep tonight.

Ever and again I open my door and look out on

the darkness, my friend!

I can see nothing before me.

I wonder where lies thy path!

By what dim shore of the ink-black river,

by what far edge of the frowning forest,

through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading

thy course to come to me, my friend?

I must launch out my boat.

The languid hours pass by on the

shore---Alas for me!

The spring has done its flowering and taken leave.

And now with the burden of faded futile flowers I wait and linger.

The waves have become clamorous, and upon the bank in the shady lane

the yellow leaves flutter and fall.

What emptiness do you gaze upon!

Do you not feel a thrill passing through the air

with the notes of the far-away song

floating from the other shore?