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THE GOLDEN MASTER

 

(Composed by the eminent poet Harindranath Chattopadhyaya in the Ashram Hall,

 

crowded with devotees on the night when death had claimed the body of Sri

 

Ramana.)

 

 

 

Grief bath grown silent with its own excess

 

And will not weep lest it betray his trust

 

Even in this dark hour of dire distress

 

He lights the flame of knowledge through our dust.

 

 

 

Illumining its blindness wide and far

 

He glitters from his heaven of deathless grace.

 

In every speck and stone, in every star

 

We see the lonely wonder of his Face.

 

 

 

Ignorance rumours that our King departs

 

Where can he go, O where? - the being moans,

 

He who has made rich kingdoms of our hearts

 

And of our thoughts his countless jewelled thrones?

 

 

 

May he forgive our wavering faith, forgive

 

The folly of our doubts whose eyes are dim

 

How dare we move or breathe except through him?

 

How could we live if he should cease to live?

 

 

 

(The Mountain Path 1964)

 

 

 

 

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Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem Gabriele. Will pass it on to

a.

 

Love

Harsha

 

/join

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gabriele Ebert [g.ebert]

Saturday, February 23, 2002 12:35 PM

RamanaMaharshi; SriArunachala

[RamanaMaharshi] The Golden Master

 

THE GOLDEN MASTER

 

(Composed by the eminent poet Harindranath Chattopadhyaya in the Ashram

Hall,

 

crowded with devotees on the night when death had claimed the body of Sri

 

Ramana.)

 

 

 

Grief bath grown silent with its own excess

 

And will not weep lest it betray his trust

 

Even in this dark hour of dire distress

 

He lights the flame of knowledge through our dust.

 

 

 

Illumining its blindness wide and far

 

He glitters from his heaven of deathless grace.

 

In every speck and stone, in every star

 

We see the lonely wonder of his Face.

 

 

 

Ignorance rumours that our King departs

 

Where can he go, O where? - the being moans,

 

He who has made rich kingdoms of our hearts

 

And of our thoughts his countless jewelled thrones?

 

 

 

May he forgive our wavering faith, forgive

 

The folly of our doubts whose eyes are dim

 

How dare we move or breathe except through him?

 

How could we live if he should cease to live?

 

 

 

(The Mountain Path 1964)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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55:HM/A=935585/R=0/*http://www.gotomypc.com/u/tr/yh/grp/300_1b/g22lp?Target=

mm/g22lp.tmpl>

 

 

 

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