The Rapture of Devotion

Dancing they sing my praises j surely not
For them rites of atonement, — nay, I wot,
Sin's very name's forgot.

The mind and heart ask, "What shall we restrain?"
The sacred stream cries, "All my cleansing's vain,
Since here there is no stain."

Thus by the praises of my name they slay
The world's distress; hark, how it echoes gay
With happy holiday.

The same to them the monarch or his thrall,
The high or low, — themselves alike to all
A place of festival.

To heaven they seldom go, but earth they fill
Brim full of heaven, chanting my name until
The world is cleansed from ill.

For not in heaven I dwell; nor in the sky
In the sun's orb; than yogi's visions high
Far higher still am I.

Not in such places, Pandav, I abide,
But those who sing my praises far and wide,
Within their hearts I hide.

How glad of heart are they beholding me.
Forgot are time and place; where'er they be,
There sing they joyfully.

And they, the while my name they celebrate
In endless song, with limpid thought debate
Upon the soul's estate.