This moment, this chance, O Sádhus: this moment, this chance.

Though one pour out millions, 'twill not return to him again: this precious birth as man.
Without companion, without comrade: each fares forth by himself alone.

Why sleepest thou? Arise, wake early: death shakes thee by the arm,
Says Kabír, Sing Govind's praises: the fair of this world is vanity.