6
THE INDIAN SONG OF SONGS.
Mighty Ploughman! Teacher tender!
Of thine own the sure Defender!
Under all thy ten disguises
Endless praise to thee arises.
Of thine own the sure Defender!
Under all thy ten disguises
Endless praise to thee arises.
(What follows is to the Music Gurjjarî and the Mode Nihsâra.)
Endless praise arises,
O thou God that liest
Rapt, on Kumla's breast,
Happiest, holiest, highest!
Planets are thy jewels,
Stars thy forehead-gems,
Set like sapphires gleaming
In kingliest anadems;
Even the great gold Sun-God,
Blazing through the sky,
Serves thee but for crest-stone,
Jai, jai! Hari, jai!
As that Lord of day
After night brings morrow,
Thou dost charm away
Life's long dream of sorrow.
O thou God that liest
Rapt, on Kumla's breast,
Happiest, holiest, highest!
Planets are thy jewels,
Stars thy forehead-gems,
Set like sapphires gleaming
In kingliest anadems;
Even the great gold Sun-God,
Blazing through the sky,
Serves thee but for crest-stone,
Jai, jai! Hari, jai!
As that Lord of day
After night brings morrow,
Thou dost charm away
Life's long dream of sorrow.
