India to France

My sister sweet, your eyes are dim,
    Too narrow and brief their view.
The Mother for all, all souls will thrive
    Under her ruby-Blessing dew.

With Spirit's flame surcharged is my soil;
    Therefore her Feet of Light
On my breast shall rest; with scarce a toil
    To free the earth from Ignorance' blight.

Her Birth you cherish and I her Play.
    She is our deathless Hope.
She is Mother of eternal Day.
    No more in gloom we shall grope.