আমার    যে আসে কাছে, যে যায় চলে দূরে,
কভু      পাই বা কভু না পাই যে বন্ধুরে,
যেন      এই কথাটি বাজে মনের সুরে
                   তুমি আমার কাছে এসেছ।
কভু      মধুর রসে ভরে হৃদয়খানি,
কভু      নিঠুর বাজে প্রিয়মুখের বাণী,
তবু       নিত্য যেন এই কথাটি জানি
                    তুমি স্নেহের হাসি হেসেছ।
ওগো      কভু সুখের কভু দুখের দোলে
মোর      জীবন জুড়ে কত তুফান তোলে,
যেন       চিত্ত আমার এই কথা না ভোলে
                     তুমি আমায় ভালোবেসেছ।
যবে       মরণ আসে নিশীথে গৃহদ্বারে
যবে       পরিচিতের কোল হতে সে কাড়ে
যেন       জানি গো সেই অজানা পারাবারে
  এক তরীতে তুমিও ভেসেছ।

THE BATTLE is over. After strife and struggles the treasure is
gathered and stored.
Come now, woman, with your golden jar of beauty. Wash away all
dust and dirt, fill up all cracks and flaws, make the heap shapely and sound.
Come, beautiful woman, with the golden jar on your head.
The play is over. I have come to the village and have set up my
hearth stone.
Now come, woman, carrying your vessel of sacred water; with
tranquil smile and devout love, make my home pure.
Come, noble woman, with your vessel of sacred water.
The morning is over. The sun is fiercely burning. The wandering
stranger is seeking shelter.
Come, woman, with your full pitcher of sweetness. Open your door
and with a garland of welcome ask him in.
Come, blissful woman, with your full pitcher of sweetness.
The day is over. The time has come to take leave.
Come, O woman, with your vessel full of tears. Let your sad eyes
shed tender glow on the farewell path and the touch of thy
trembling hand make the parting hour full.
Come, sad woman, with your vessel of tears.
The night is dark; the house is desolate and the bed empty, only
the lamp for the last rites is burning.
Come, woman, bring your brimming jar of remembrance. Open the
door of the secret chamber with your unbraided streaming
hair and spotless white robe, replenish the lamp of worship.
Come, suffering woman, bring your brimming jar of remembrance

HAVE YOU NOT heard his silent steps? He comes, comes, ever comes.
Every moment and every age, every day and every night he comes, comes, ever comes.
Many a song have I sung in many a mood of mind, but all their notes have always proclaimed, 'He comes, comes, ever comes.'
In the fragrant days of sunny April through the forest path he comes, comes, ever comes.
In the rainy gloom of July nights on the thundering chariot of clouds he comes, comes, ever comes.
In sorrow after sorrow it is his steps that press upon my heart, and it is the golden touch of his feet that makes my joy to shine.