Fool's friend was I, none such may know
The way of freedom; yet to me
He shewed the path of love, that so
Fruit of past deeds might ended be.
Cleansing my mind so foul, He made me like a god.
Ah who could win that which the Father hath bestowed?
***
Thinking it right, sin's path I trod;
But, so that I such paths might leave,
And find His grace, the dancing God,
Who far beyond our thought doth live,
O wonder passing great!
To me His dancing shewed.
Ah who could win that which the Father hath bestowed?
"His form is smeared with ashes white;
The snake His strange adornment is;
The secret scriptures utters He:
What kind of god, my friend, is this?
"Why talk of ash-smear, holy speech,
adornment strange? This only know,
This god, of every living thing is the true nature. Chāḷalō."
***
"My father and my master, He of all men Lord supreme, is clad
With but a hanging loin-cloth stitched;
Pray tell me, friend, is He not mad?
"The Vedas four with meaning fraught,
The everlasting shastras, know
That these are but the threads whereof is wove His loin-cloth. Chāḷalō."
***
The burning-ground's His temple fine;
The tiger's skin His raiment is;
Father or mother hath He none;
He's all alone; my friend, see this.''
"Though He no parents hath, no kin,
Yet should His anger kindle, lo,
The whole wide world would straightway turn to dust and ashes. Chāḷalō."
***
"Though I am but a cur, yet when
I turned to Him who hath no end,
Into a sea of bliss He made me sink
Overwhelmed; see this, my friend."
"Those holy feet that sank thee
In the sea of bliss overwhelmed, know,
Even to the very gods in heaven they're richest treasure. Chāḷalō."
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