34.

My Mother India,
Your pride, your hope-noon,
Your all-transforming crest
Was Aurobindo.
Wet with your tears, his human heart.
The thunder-blaze of his volcano-pen
Awoke the sleeping souls
To free their Motherland.
Aurobindo,
The zenith Leader of the dire revolt,
With rising sparks of Ind was all aglow
In him we found our altar of sacrifice.
From his words and deeds
Drank we deep delight ambrosial.