Short Poems

Oh what is earth, that we should build
Our houses here, and seek concealed
Poor treasure, and add field to field,
And heap to heap, and store to store,
Still grasping more and seeking more,
While step by step Death nears the door?

The rules to men made evident
By Him who built the day,
The columns of the firmament
Not firmer based than they.

I have found a nobler love
Than the sordid world doth know
Above its envy or belief
My flames of passion glow

We little think when idle pleasures choose
A path to please us—what haphazards loose
A moments aim our anxious eyes engross
Though twelvemonths troubles wait to count the loss

There is a history in all men's lives,
Figuring the nature of the time deceased;
The which observed, a man may prophesy,
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As not yet come to life.

Who to the North, or South, doth set
His Bed, Male children shall beget.

My wearied Barke, O Let it now be Crown'd!
The Haven reacht to which I first was bound.

Are friends delight or pain?
Could Bounty but remain
Riches were good—

But if they only stay
Ampler to fly away
Riches are sad.

Alas! the tears which she restrains,
Saying the heat has made her thin.

Of one unchanging nature, so we saw the Lord.
Immeasurable as the deeps of ocean, He is Creator, the King of kings.
One grain of good found in His worshipper, He accepts it as it were Meru mountain.
The vast ocean of his sin He accounts but as a drop from a cistern. So is the Lord.
For His servant who is lost and troubled, he ranges far in loving search.
O Sur Das, who turns his back on such a master, he is hapless indeed.