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And when toils and cares are over,
And earth's ties you sever,
You shall hear the welcome words:
"Come and rest for ever."
WHAT HAVE WE DONE TO-DAY?
We shall do so much in the years to come,
We shall lift the heart and dry the tear,
We shall be so kind in the after-while,
We shall bring to each lonely life a smile,
We shall give to truth a grander birth,
We shall reap such joys in the by-and-by,
'Tis sweet in idle dream to bask,
But here and now do we do our task?
Yes, this is the thing our souls must ask,
Speak as you mean, do as you profess, and perform what you promise.
Let your promises be sincere, and within the compass of your ability.
Be slow to promise, and quick to perform.
Promise little, and do much.
We promise according to our hopes, we perform according to our fears.
What should you keep after you have given it to another? Ans. Word.
He, who often swears, distrusts his own word.
A promise should be given with caution, and kept with care. It should be made by the heart; and remembered by the head.
A hero's valour does not diminish at all,
Though he is roughly handled on the field of battle;
Shaivya, a king whom earth obeyed,
And by his truth made heaven his own.
KING SHAIVYA AND THE SUPPLIANT DOVE.
(The following is a free version of a very ancient story which occurs more than once in the Mahâbhârata, and is referred to in the Râmâyana.)
Chased by a hawk there came a dove
With worn and weary wing,
And took her stand upon the hand
The monarch smoothed her ruffled plumes,
And cried, 'No fear shall vex thee here,
Fair Kâshi's realm is rich and wide,
With golden harvests gay,
But all that 's mine will I resign
But panting for his half-won spoil,
And with wild cry and eager eye
Came swooping down the wind :
This bird,' he cried, 'my destined prize,
'Tis not for thee to shield:
'Tis mine by right and toilsome flight
O'er hill and dale and field.
Translated by Griffith.
Hunger and thirst oppress me sore,
They say thou art a glorious king,
Mine oath forbids me to betray
See how she clings with trembling wings.
'No flesh of lambs', the hawk replied,
But if affection for the dove
Thy pitying heart has stirred,
He carved the flesh from off his side,
While women's cries smote on the skies,
He hacked the flesh from side and arm, From chest and back and thigh,
But still above the little dove
The monarch's scale stood high.
He heaped the scale with piles of flesh, With sinews, blood, and skin,
And when alone was left him bone
He threw himself therein.
Then thundered voices through the air;
The blessed gods, from every sphere,
While drum and flute and shell and lute,
They rained immortal chaplets down,
Which hands celestial twine, And softly shed upon his head
Pure Amrit, drink divine.
Then God and Seraph, Bard and Nymph
And a glad throng with dance and song,
They set him on a golden car,
That blazed with many a gem;
Thus Kâshi's lord, by noble deed,
From Additional Notes to the Râmâyana, translated by Griffith.