GOD IN His temple of stars
waits for man to bring him his lamp.

THY CALL HAS sped over all countries of the world
and men have gathered around thy seat.
The day is come.
But where is India?
Does she still remain hidden, lagging behind?
Let her take up her burden and march with all.
Send her, mighty God, thy message of victory,
O Lord ever awake!
Those who defied suffering have crossed
the wilderness of death and have shattered
their prison of illusions.
The day is come.
But where is India?
Her listless arms are idle and ashamed
and futile her days and nights, lacking in joy of life.
Touch her with thy living breath,
O Lord ever awake!
The morning sun of the new age has risen.
Thy temple hall is filled with pilgrims.
The day is come.
But where is India?
She lies on the dust in dishonour,
deprived of her seat.
Remove her shame, and give her a place
in thy House of Man,
O Lord ever awake!
The world's highroads are crowded,
resounding with the roar of thy chariot wheels.
The sky is trembling with travellers' songs.
The day is come.
But where is India?
Doors are shut in her house age-worn,
feeble is her hope, her heart sunk in silence.
Send thy voice to her children who are dumb,
O Lord ever awake!
Peoples there are who have felt thy strength
in their own hearts and sinews
and have earned life's fulfilment,
conquering fear.
The day is come.
But where is India?
Strike thy blow at her self-suspicion and despair!
Save her from the dread of her own pursuing shadow,
O Lord ever awake!

I CALL HER MY Krishna flower
though they call her dark in the village.
I remember a cloud-laden day
and a glance from her eyes,
her veil trailing down at her feet
her braided hair loose on her back.
Ah, you call her dark; let that be,
her black gazelle eyes I have seen.
Her cows were lowing in the meadow,
when the fading light grew grey.
With hurried steps she came out
from her hut near the bamboo grove.
She raised her quick eyes to the sky,
where the clouds were heavy with rain.
Ah, you call her dark! let that be,
her black gazelle eyes I have seen.
The East wind in fitful gusts
ruffled the young shoots of rice.
I stood at the boundary hedge
with none else in the lonely land.
If she espied me in secret or not
She only knows and know 1.
Ah, you call her dark! let that be,
her black gazelle eyes I have seen.
She is the surprise of cloud
in the burning heart of May,
a tender shadow on the forest
in the stillness of sunset hour,
a mystery of dumb delight
in the rain-loud night of June.
Ah, you call her dark! let that be,
her black gazelle eyes I have seen.
I call her my Krishna flower,
let all others say what they like.
In the rice-field of Maina village
I felt the first glance of her eyes.
She had not a veil on her face,
not a moment of leisure for shyness.
Ah, you call her dark! let that be,
her black gazelle eyes I have seen.