Sunday, June 6, 2021



"What Yogis now, what Rishis of old,
The greatness of that Mother hath told,
Who from her own breast gave birth
To the sky and to the earth.

Thou hung the Heavens in empty space,
And holds the earth in its place,
Thou made and lighted up the sun
To stay and shine this earth upon.

Thy power transcendent, since their birth
Asunder holds the heaven and earth,
As chariot wheels are kept apart
By axles made thru workman's art.

In Shakti, who with thee can vie,
Thou fills the earth, the air, the sky;
Thy presence, unperceived, extends
Beyond the world's remotest ends
A million earths, if such there be,
A million skies fall short of thee;
A billion suns can not out shine
The effulgence of thy light divine.

The worlds, which mortals boundless deem
To thee but as a handfull seem.
Mother, Thou art without a peer.
On earth, or in yonder heavenly sphere.

Thee, God, such matchless powers adorn
That thou without a foe was born.
Thou art the Lord of Lords,
Adored by Men—revered by Gods.

The circling times which wear away,
All else, to thee can not decay;
Thou shinest on in youthful force,
While countless Yugas run their course
Unvexed by cares, or fears, or strife,
In bliss serene flow on thy life,
With faith we claim thine aid divine,
As thou art Mother, and we are thine.

An old Hindu prayer. The metrical translation from the Sanskrit writers, by Mr. J. Muir


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