296.
BLESSED is he whose fame does not outshine his truth.
297.
SWEETNESS of thy name fills my heart when I forget mine-like thy morning sun when the mist is melted.
298.
THE silent night has the beauty of the mother and the clamorous day of the child.
299.
THE world loved man when he smiled. The world became afraid of him when he laughed.
300.
GOD waits for man to regain his childhood in wisdom.
301.
LET me feel this world as thy love taking form, then my love will help it.
302.
THY sunshine smiles upon the winter days of my heart, never doubting of its spring flowers.
303.
GOD kisses the finite in his love and man the infinite.
304.
THOU crossest desert lands of barren years to reach the moment of fulfilment.
305.
GOD's silence ripens man's thoughts into speech.
306.
THOU wilt find, Eternal Traveller, marks of thy footsteps across my songs.
307.
LET me not shame thee, Father, who displayest thy glory in thy children.
308.
CHEERLESS is the day, the light under frowning clouds is like a punished child with traces of tears on its pale cheeks, and the cry of the wind is like the cry of a wounded world. But I know I am travelling to meet my Friend.
309.
TO-NIGHT there is a stir among the palm leaves, a swell in the sea, Full Moon, like the heart throb of the world. From what unknown sky hast thou carried in thy silence the aching secret of love?
310.
I DREAM of a star, an island of light, where I shall be born and in the depth of its quickening leisure my life will ripen its works like the ricefield in the autumn sun.
311.
THE smell of the wet earth in the rain rises like a great chant of praise from the voiceless multitude of the insignificant.
312.
THAT love can ever lose is a fact that we cannot accept as truth.
313.
WE shall know some day that death can never rob us of that which our soul has gained, for her gains are one with herself.
314.
GOD comes to me in the dusk of my evening with the flowers from my past kept fresh in his basket.
315.
WHEN all the strings of my life will be tuned, my Master, then at every touch of thine will come out the music of love.
316.
LET me live truly, my Lord, so that death to me become true.
317.
MAN'S history is waiting in patience for the triumph of the insulted man.
318.
I FEEL thy gaze upon my heart this moment like the sunny silence of the morning upon the lonely field whose harvest is over.
319.
I LONG for the Island of Songs across this heaving Sea of Shouts.
320.
THE prelude of the night is commenced in the music of the sunset, in its solemn hymn to the ineffable dark.
321.
I HAVE scaled the peak and found no shelter in fame's bleak and barren height. Lead me, my Guide, before the light fades, into the valley of quiet where life's harvest mellows into golden wisdom.
322.
THINGS look phantastic in this dimness of the dusk-the spires whose bases are lost in the dark and tree tops like blots of ink. I shall wait for the morning and wake up to see thy city in the light.
323.
I HAVE suffered and despaired and known death and I am glad that I am in this great world.
324.
THERE are tracts in my life that are bare and silent. They are the open spaces where my busy days had their light and air.
325.
RELEASE me from my unfulfilled past clinging to me from behind making death difficult.
326.
LET this be my last word, that I trust in thy love.
The Crescent Moon THE HOME.
I PACED alone on the road across the field while the sunset was hiding its last gold like a miser.
The daylight sank deeper and deeper into the darkness, and the widowed land, whose harvest had been reaped, lay silent.
Suddenly a boy's shrill voice rose into the sky. He traversed the dark unseen, leaving the track of his song across the hush of the evening.
His village home lay there at the end of the waste land, beyond the sugar-cane field, hidden among the shadows of the banana and the slender areca palm, the cocoa-nut and the dark green jack-fruit trees.
I stopped for a moment in my lonely way under the starlight, and saw spread before me the darkened earth surrounding with her arms countless homes furnished with cradles and beds, mothers' hearts and evening lamps, and young lives glad with a gladness that knows nothing of its value for the world.
ON THE SEASHORE.
ON the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand, and they play with empty shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl-fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather pebbles and scatter them again. They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams in the pathless sky, ships are wrecked in the trackless water, death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children.
THE SOURCE.
THE sleep that flits on baby's eyes-does anybody know from where it comes? Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where, in the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with glow-worms, there hang two shy buds of enchantment. From there it comes to kiss baby's eyes.
The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps-does anybody know where it was born? Yes, there is a rumour that a young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew-washed morning-the smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps.
The sweet, soft freshness that blooms on baby's limbs-does anybody know where it was hidden so long? Yes, when the mother was a young girl it lay pervading her heart in tender and silent mystery of love-the sweet, soft freshness that has bloomed on baby's limbs.
BABY'S WAY IF baby only wanted to, he could fly up to heaven this moment.
It is not for nothing that he does not leave us.
He loves to rest his head on mother's bosom, and cannot ever bear to lose sight of her.
Baby knows all manner of wise words, though few on earth can understand their meaning.
It is not for nothing that he never wants to speak.
The one thing he wants is to learn mother's words from mother's lips. That is why he looks so innocent.
Baby had a heap of gold and pearls, yet he came like a beggar on to this earth.
It is not for nothing he came in such a disguise.
This dear little naked mendicant pretends to be utterly helpless, so that he may beg for mother's wealth of love.
Baby was so free from every tie in the land of the tiny crescent moon.
It was not for nothing he gave up his freedom.
He knows that there is room for endless joy in mother's little corner of a heart, and it is sweeter far than liberty to be caught and pressed in her dear arms.
Baby never knew how to cry. He dwelt in the land of perfect bliss.
It is not for nothing he has chosen to shed tears.
Though with the smile of his dear face he draws mother's yearning heart to him, yet his little cries over tiny troubles weave the double bond of pity and love.
THE UNHEEDED PAGEANT.
AH, who was it coloured that little frock, my child, and covered your sweet limbs with that little red tunic?
You have come out in the morning to play in the courtyard, tottering and tumbling as you run.
But who was it coloured that little frock, my child?
What is it makes you laugh, my little life-bud?
Mother smiles at you standing on the threshold.