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. ```

From:Sri Chinmoy,The Mother of the Golden All, Agni Press, 1974
Sourced from https://srichinmoylibrary.com/mga