Our Mothers, lovely women pitiful;
Our Sisters, gracious in their life and death;
To us each unforgotten memory saith:
“Learn as we learned in life's sufficient school,
Work as we worked in patience of our rule,
Walk as we walked, much less by sight than faith,
Hope as we hoped, despite our slips and scathe,
Fearful in joy and confident in dule.”
I know not if they see us or can see;
But if they see us in our painful day,
How looking back to earth from Paradise
Do tears not gather in those loving eyes?—

O how I love Thy holy law!
'Tis daily my delight;
And thence my meditations draw
Divine advice by night.

How doth Thy Word my heart engage!
How well employ my tongue,
And in my tiresome pilgrimage
Yields me a heavenly song.

When nature sinks, and spirits droop,
Thy promises of grace
Are pillars to support my hope,
And there I write Thy praise.

L OVE'S torments sought a place of rest,
Where all might drear and lonely be;
They found ere long my desert breast,
And nestled in its vacancy.

When chinks in April's windy dome
Let through a day of June,
And foot and thought incline to roam,
And every sound 's a tune;
When Nature fills a fuller cup,
And hides with green the gray,—
Then, lover, pluck your courage up
To try your fate in May.

Though proud she was as sunset clad
In Autumn's fruity shades,
Love too is proud, and brings (gay lad!)
Humility to maids.
Scorn not from nature's mood to learn,
Take counsel of the day:
Since haughty skies to tender turn,
Go try your fate in May.

Let it go on; let the love of this hour be poured out till all the answers are made, the last dollar spent and the last blood gone.

Time runs with an ax and a hammer, time slides down the hallways with a pass-key and a master-key, and time gets by, time wins.

Let the love of this hour go on; let all the oaths and children and people of this love be clean as a washed stone under a waterfall in the sun.

Time is a young man with ballplayer legs, time runs a winning race against life and the clocks, time tickles with rust and spots.

Life is not dear or gay
—Till lovers kiss it,
Love stole my life away
—Ere I might miss it.
In sober March I vowed
—I'd have no lover,
Love laid me in my shroud
—Ere June was over.

I felt his body take
—My body to it,
And knew my heart would break
—Ere I should rue it;
June roses are not sad
—When dew-drops steep them,
My moments were so glad
—I could not keep them.

Proud was I love had made
—Desire to fill me,
I shut my eyes and prayed
—That he might kill me.
I saw new wonders wreathe
—The stars above him.

This dainty shawl an Eastern shuttle wove,
Where Ravee stream winds sunward from Cashmere;
By nimble gold 'twas borne around the sphere
For one who gave it me in friendly love.
To rival nature's hues the weaver strove,
For beauty's sake and not barbaric show;
Behold, commingled here, elusive glow
The brilliant, innocent dyes of field and grove.
This silk-soft web was never merchandise;
A charm of peerless art proclaims it rare,—
A sumptuous robe that Majesty would prize,
And India's British Empress well might wear;

When on the altar of my hand,
Bedew'd with many a kiss and tear,
Thy now revolted heart did stand
An humble martyr, thou didst swear
Thus (and the god of love did hear):
“By those bright glances of thine eye,
Unless thou pity me, I die.”

When first those perjured lips of thine,
Be-paled with blasting sighs, did seal
Their violated faith on mine,
From the soft bosom that did heal
Thee, thou my melting heart didst steal:
My soul, inflamed with thy false breath,
Poison'd with kisses, suck'd in death.

Yet I nor hand nor lip will move,

If one would make a bid for love.
Let him renounce his heart's desire and offer his head a sacrifice.
Let him desert the way of actions, and seek to know his self's true state.
Ever before him is Love's cup, joyfully he tastes' its sweetness.
The soul in Hari, He in the soul. He it is who speaks this word.
He is in all, we all in Him: but few are they who understand it.
That Jiva's state, who is wholly true, who can know?
Gulal declares them united with the Name: this let none forget.

Give place all ye that doth rejoice,
And love's pangs hath clean forgot.
Let them draw near and hear my voice
Whom Love doth force in pains to fret,
For all of plaint my song is set,
Which long hath served and nought can get.

A faithful heart so truly meant
Rewarded is full slenderly;
A steadfast faith with good intent
Is recompensèd craftily;
Such hap doth hap unhappily
To them that mean but honestly.

With humble suit I have assay'd
To turn her cruel-hearted mind,
But for reward I am delay'd,
And to my wealth her eyes be blind.