Psalms of the Brethren CCXXXIII: Kaludayin

Now crimson glow the trees, dear Lord, and cast
Their ancient foliage in quest of fruit.
Like crests of flame they shine irradiant,
And rich in hope, great Hero, is the hour.

Verdure and blossom-time in every tree,
Where’er we look delightful to the eye,
And every quarter breathing fragrant airs,
While petals falling, yearning comes for fruit: —
’Tis time, O Hero, that we set out hence.

Not over hot, nor over cold, but sweet,
O Master, now the season of the year.
O let the Sakiyans and the Koliyans
Behold thee with thy face set toward the West,
Crossing the [border-river] Rohini.

In hope the field is ploughed, in hope the seed is sown,
In hope of winning wealth merchants fare over sea.
The hope I cherish, may that hope be realized!

Again and yet again is seed in furrow sown.
Again and yet again the cloud-king sends down rain,
Again and yet again the ploughmen plough the field,
Again and yet again comes corn into the realm.

Again and yet again do beggars go their round;
Again and yet again the generous donors give;
Again and yet again when many gifts are given,
Again and yet again the donors find their heaven.

Surely a hero lifts to lustrous purity
Seven generations past wherever he be born.
And so methinks can He, the vastly wise, the god
Of gods. In Thee is born in very truth a Seer.

Suddhodana is named the mighty prophet’s sire,
And mother of the Buddha was [our queen] Maya.
She, having borne the Wisdom-being in her womb,
Found, when the body died, delight in Tusita.

She, Gotamid, dying on earth, deceasing hence,
Now lives in heavenly joys attended by those gods.

Son of the Buddha I, yea, e’en of such as He,
Th’ Angirasa, to whom there lives not any peer,
Who that which is insuperable hath o’ercome.
And father of my Father art thou, Sakiyan,
To me thou, Gotamid, art grandsire in the Norm.