The volcano-leader of the nation1

(In Bengal, 1906)

The Mother in chains, he labours with her dole.
His human heart is wet with her tears.
"India, my India, awake!
Mere fruitless mortal years; —

O they can never be your choice sublime.
Break through the storm of deadening blows.
Bande Mataram, the fire-incantation
Shrine in your heart-beats; close

The door of age-long dark oblivion.
For the Mother's freedom vast, to you
My heart shall give her Will's tremendous flow
Of deathless golden hue.

Our Mother shall sit on the throne of ecstasy,
Guiding the world with her Immortality."

  1. SAI 14. (1956)