In singing praise of Thee I put my trust, O Immortal.
I make no pilgrimage, I keep no fast: nor read the Vedas at Kasi.
I know no magic, jantras, mantras: night and day I roam in sorrow.
Within my heart dwells a butcher concealed behind a screen of coveting.
Dharm Das prays with clasped hands, O Sat Guru make me thy servant at thy feet.

Coming to see the flow'rs, I sleep
Beneath the flowers, being free.

The flow'rs have made me drunk: — I loathe
The singing-girls on my way home.

Guru, fallen at thy feet give me vision of the Name.
Birth after birth this soul is sunk in slumber: rouse it with the blows of thy Sabdas.
In the thick darkness the eyes see nothing: kindle the lamp of wisdom.
The throbbings of desire stir within my heart: let fall thereon the drops of amrit.
The river is deep, the stream fathomless: set me upon the further shore.
This is the prayer of Dharm Das, O Lord, that in the present hour Thou save me.

High beyond the thick wall a tower shines with sunset
Where peach and plum are blooming and the willow-cotton flies.
You have heard in your office the court-bell of twilight;
Birds find perches, officials head for home.
Your morning-jade will tinkle as you thread the golden palace;
You will bring the word of Heaven from the closing gates at night.
And I should serve there with you; but being full of years,
I have taken off official robes and am resting from my troubles.

How distant on the fallen leaves
His footstep sounds for whom I wait!

O Master look on me.
I look to Thee, Thou lookest not on me: Thy heart is hardened.

On others some have set their hopes: my hope is set on Thee alone.

Spread for my mind a bed of bliss in the heavens: that rising I may give thee thanks.
Dharm Das prays with clasped hands: O Lord, Kabir loose me from bondage.

My eyes without the vision die athirst.
Leaving thee no other can I sing — no other hope have I?
At every hour I pray with clasped hands — Take and make me Thy slave.
Day and night may I be devoted to Thee — without the vision faith have I none.
Dharm Das prays with hands clasped — Grant me to dwell in Thine own world.

Done is the long spring day, wherein
The nightingale did sing afar.

The red-capped Cock-Man has just announced morning;
The Keeper of the Robes brings Jade-Cloud Furs;
Heaven's nine doors reveal the palace and its courtyards;
And the coats of many countries bow to the Pearl Crown.
Sunshine has entered the giants' carven palms;
Incense wreathes the Dragon Robe:
The audience adjourns—and the five-coloured edict
Sets girdle-beads clinking toward the Lake of the Phœnix.