O Omnipotent One,
What did I not receive from Thy Grace?
Thy mercies flowed without stint
But the neck of my bag was too narrow!
Without God, life is death,
It is not life at all.
There is neither verdure in the heart
Nor lustre in the soul.
Even without Thee, my Lord,
I continue to live on,
But it is not a life I could call living.
How long my heart has been crying out,
Yet no one listens.
Apart from Thee, I have no one in all Creation To call my own.
True, I am poor and contemptible,
So that I have no one to call my own.
My forehead is touching the ground in worship,
But I have no skill at the calling:
I have accepted service,
But do not know how to serve.
Who but Thee will hear me ?
Come to me now and then And grant me Thy sight
To whom else could I turn in worship
If Thou art not present before me?
O Man! Submit to the arrows of God!
Kindle the flame of His love,
Sing His praises in holy hymns And know that love is no jesting matter.
Accept the wounds, gulp down thy blood,
Swallow thy sighs—love is no jesting matter.
Do not even be aware
That your head is bowed in service—
That is no service at all
That is conscious of itself as such.
Have I caught His eye ?
Is He looking in my direction ?
That love is no love at all
Which is grubbing for signs of favour.
A DEVOTIONAL SONG OF SWAMI RAMA TIRTHA