I.9. na jane sahab kaisa hai
I DO NOT KNOW what manner of God is mine.
The Mullah cries aloud to Him: and why? Is your Lord deaf? The subtle anklets that ring on the feet of an insect when it moves are heard of Him.
Tell your beads, paint your forehead with the mark of your God, and wear matted locks long and showy: but a deadly weapon is in your heart, and how shall you have God?

যথাসাধ্য-ভালো বলে, ওগো আরো-ভালো,
কোন্‌ স্বর্গপুরী তুমি ক'রে থাকো আলো।
আরো-ভালো কেঁদে কহে, আমি থাকি হায়,
অকর্মণ্য দাম্ভিকের অক্ষম ঈর্ষায়।

THE BIRD OF the morning sings.
Whence has he word of the morning before the morning breaks, and when the dragon night still holds the sky in its cold black coils?
Tell me, bird of the morning, how, through the twofold night of the sky and the leaves, he found his way into your dream, the messenger out of the east?
The world did not believe you when you cried, 'The sun is on his way, the night is no more.'
0 sleeper, awake!
Bare your forehead, waiting for the first blessing of light, and sing with the bird of the morning in glad faith.