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will he think- who holds the truth of truths- In seeing, hearing,
touching, smelling; when He eats, or goes, or breathes; slumbers or
talks, Holds fast or loosens, opens his eyes or shuts; Always assured
"This is the sense-world plays With senses." He that acts
in thought of Brahm, Detaching end from act, with act
content, The world of sense can no more stain his soul Than waters
mar th' enameled lotus-leaf.
With life, with heart, with mind,- nay,
with the help Of all five senses- letting selfhood go-
Yogins toil ever towards their souls' release. Such votaries,
renouncing fruit of deeds, Gain endless peace: the unvowed, the
passion-bound, Seeking a fruit from works, are fastened down. The
embodied sage, withdrawn within his soul, At every act sits godlike
in "the town Which hath nine gateways," neither doing
aught Nor causing any deed.
This world's Lord makes Neither the work,
nor passion for the work, Nor lust for fruit of work; the man's own
self Pushes to these! The Master of this World Takes on himself the
good or evil deeds Of no man- dwelling beyond! Mankind errs here By
folly, darkening knowledge. But, for whom That darkness of the soul
is chased by light, Splendid and clear shines manifest the Truth As
if a Sun of Wisdom sprang to shed Its beams of dawn.
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