| LORD BUDDHA, on thy lotus-throne, | |
| With praying eyes and hands elate, | |
| What mystic rapture dost thou own, | |
| Immutable and ultimate? | |
| What peace, unravished of our ken, | 5 |
| Annihilate from the world of men? | |
| |
| The wind of change for ever blows | |
| Across the tumult of our way, | |
| To-morrow’s unborn griefs depose | |
| The sorrows of our yesterday. | 10 |
| Dream yields to dream, strife follows strife, | |
| And Death unweaves the webs of Life. | |
| |
| For us the travail and the heat, | |
| The broken secrets of our pride, | |
| The strenuous lessons of defeat, | 15 |
| The flower deferred, the fruit denied; | |
| But not the peace, supremely won, | |
| Lord Buddha, of thy Lotus-throne. | |
| |
| With futile hands we seek to gain | |
| Our inaccessible desire, | 20 |
| Diviner summits to attain, | |
| With faith that sinks and feet that tire | |
| But nought shall conquer or control | |
| The heavenward hunger of our soul. | |
| |
| The end, elusive and afar, | 25 |
| Still lures us with its beckoning flight, | |
| And all our mortal moments are | |
| A session of the Infinite. | |
| How shall we reach the great, unknown | |
| Nirvana of thy Lotus-throne? | 30 |
