The Golden Threshold | Page 8

and feet, The red, the red of the
henna-tree.

HARVEST HYMN
Men's Voices
Lord of the lotus, lord of the harvest, Bright and munificent lord of the
morn! Thine is the bounty that prospered our sowing, Thine is the
bounty that nurtured our corn. We bring thee our songs and our
garlands for tribute, The gold of our fields and the gold of our fruit; O
giver of mellowing radiance, we hail thee, We praise thee, O Surya,
with cymbal and flute.
Lord of the rainbow, lord of the harvest, Great and beneficent lord of
the main! Thine is the mercy that cherished our furrows, Thine is the
mercy that fostered our grain. We bring thee our thanks and our
garlands for tribute, The wealth of our valleys, new-garnered and ripe;
O sender of rain and the dewfall, we hail thee, We praise thee, Varuna,
with cymbal and pipe.
Women's Voices
Queen of the gourd-flower, queen of the harvest, Sweet and omnipotent
mother, O Earth! Thine is the plentiful bosom that feeds us, Thine is
the womb where our riches have birth. We bring thee our love and our
garlands for tribute, With gifts of thy opulent giving we come; O
source of our manifold gladness, we hail thee, We praise thee, O Prithvi,
with cymbal and drum.
All Voices
Lord of the Universe, Lord of our being, Father eternal, ineffable Om!
Thou art the Seed and the Scythe of our harvests, Thou art our Hands
and our Heart and our Home. We bring thee our lives and our labours
for tribute, Grant us thy succour, thy counsel, thy care. O Life of all life
and all blessing, we hail thee, We praise thee, O Bramha, with cymbal

and prayer.

INDIAN LOVE-SONG
She
Like a serpent to the calling voice of flutes, Glides my heart into thy
fingers, O my Love! Where the night-wind, like a lover, leans above
His jasmine-gardens and sirisha-bowers; And on ripe boughs of
many-coloured fruits Bright parrots cluster like vermilion flowers.
He
Like the perfume in the petals of a rose, Hides thy heart within my
bosom, O my love! Like a garland, like a jewel, like a dove That hangs
its nest in the asoka-tree. Lie still, O love, until the morning sows Her
tents of gold on fields of ivory.

CRADLE-SONG
From groves of spice, O'er fields of rice, Athwart the lotus-stream, I
bring for you, Aglint with dew A little lovely dream.
Sweet, shut your eyes, The wild fire-fiies Dance through the fairy neem;
From the poppy-bole For you I stole A little lovely dream.
Dear eyes, good-night, In golden light The stars around you gleam; On
you I press With soft caress A little lovely dream.

SUTTEE
Lamp of my life, the lips of Death Hath blown thee out with their
sudden breath; Naught shall revive thy vanished spark . . . Love, must I
dwell in the living dark?
Tree of my life, Death's cruel foot Hath crushed thee down to thy
hidden root; Nought shall restore thy glory fled . . . Shall the blossom
live when the tree is dead?
Life of my life, Death's bitter sword Hath severed us like a broken word,
Rent us in twain who are but one . . Shall the flesh survive when the
soul is gone?

SONGS FOR MUSIC
SONG OF A DREAM

Once in the dream of a night I stood Lone in the light of a magical
wood, Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang; And spirits of Truth
were the birds that sang, And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed,
And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed In that magical wood
in the land of sleep.
Lone in the light of that magical grove, I felt the stars of the spirits of
Love Gather and gleam round my delicate youth, And I heard the song
of the spirits of Truth; To quench my longing I bent me low By the
streams of the spirits of Peace that flow In that magical wood in the
land of sleep.

HUMAYUN TO ZOBEIDA
(From the Urdu)
You flaunt your beauty in the rose, your glory in the dawn, Your
sweetness in the nightingale, your whiteness in the swan.
You haunt my waking like a dream, my slumber like a moon, Pervade
me like a musky scent, possess me like a tune.
Yet, when I crave of you, my sweet, one tender moment's grace, You
cry, "I SIT BEHIND THE VEIL, I CANNOT SHOW MY FACE."
Shall any foolish veil divide my longing from my bliss? Shall any
fragile curtain hide your beauty from my kiss?
What war is this of THEE and ME? Give o'er the wanton strife, You
are the heart within my