IS SUMMER'S festival only for fresh blossoms and not also for withered leaves and faded flowers?
Is the song of the sea in tune only with the rising waves?
Does it not also sing with the waves that fall?
Jewels are woven into the carpet where stands my king, but there are patient clods waiting to be touched by his feet.
Few are the wise and the great who sit by my Master, but he has taken the foolish in his arms and made me his servant for ever.

HER NEIGHBOURS call her dark in the village-but she is a lily to my heart, yes, a lily though not fair. Light came muffled with clouds, when first I saw her in the field; her head was bare, her veil was off, her braided hair hanging loose on her neck. She may be dark as they say in the village, but I have seen her black eyes and am glad.
The pulse of the air boded storm. She rushed out of the hut, when she heard her dappled cow low in dismay. For a moment she turned her large eyes to the clouds, and felt a stir of the coming rain in the sky. I stood at the corner of the ricefield,-if she noticed me, it was known only to her (and perhaps I know it). She is dark as the message of shower in summer, dark as the shade of flowering woodland; she is dark as the longing for unknown love in the wistful night of May.

গাব তোমার সুরে
            দাও সে বীণাযন্ত্র।
শুনব তোমার বাণী
            দাও সে অমর মন্ত্র॥
করব তোমার সেবা
            দাও সে পরম শক্তি,
চাইব তোমার মুখে
            দাও সে অচল ভক্তি॥
সইব তোমার আঘাত
            দাও সে বিপুল ধৈর্য।
বইব তোমার ধ্বজা
            দাও সে অটল স্থৈর্য॥
নেব সকল বিশ্ব
            দাও সে প্রবল প্রাণ,
করব আমায় নিঃস্ব
            দাও সে প্রেমের দান॥
যাব তোমার সাথে
            দাও সে দখিন হস্ত,
লড়ব তোমার রণে
            দাও সে তোমার অস্ত্র॥
জাগব তোমার সত্যে
            দাও সে আহ্বান।
ছাড়ব সুখের দাস্য
            দাও দাও কল্যাণ॥