(At the Balcony)
The aspiration-fire in our breast abides
To seize, O Mother! thy eyes’ ascending surge.
In vain ends not our longing’s secret urge;
In silence we wait to see where thy Spirit hides.
To Thee is known our nature’s hurrying course;
Our mortal sight pines for thy deathless Will.
Mother, turn faster our evolving wheel,
This truth we know — thy boundless Love, thy Force.
With groping mind for guide, we can but fall;
Through infinite pangs we come to Thee at last.
With nectared bliss our heart’s long thirst is past.
Yet vagrant thoughts make us a brittle doll.
O golden Fount of All! Thy Dawn sublime
Shall lead all souls beyond the clutch of Time.