PR 6025 .18 U8 1920 ■ Si-, •1^ of *. W rife': \/ .-ate: %^ ••» !*'- V ^ /A%& ' ♦*,♦♦ " /Ofr ^ ^ .* ^AwA '-iP A ^ L V 6 o«., ^ 0°\^* °o ^"^ '. jP"^ v ^ ^ ;• ' ^. .i* ' •ysK*. * %> Published and Copyrighted, 1 9 1 9 , by J. C. Misrow 233 S. Ashland Blvd., Chicago, U. S. A. All Rights Reserved FEB 2? 1920 Printed in Chicago, U. S. A. ©CI.A565033 TO G. M. V. DEVI AND TO MY LOVING INSPIRATION FOREWORD All this is reminiscent! Since that twilight many things have come to pass. Yes, they have changed even the face of the fair earth. But at last the anguish of night's deep darkness merges into the dawn's vibrant resplendence in the East. How different was that adoration in the moon- light, from this calm worship in the dawn ! To a Brahmin the supreme joy of victory lieth in the sacredness of Renunciation. Unforgotten — only Enshrined — so be it to the end ! And these Songs of the Dawn are no more than faint refrains of my unchanted hymns to Thee. INTRODUCTION It has ever been the wont of those, nurtured under Oriental skies, to express their loftiest thoughts in verse, leaving to the professional story-teller the task of reciting in prose national exploits and mundane happenings. This instinct of Asia to voice the lispings of her soul in accord with the rhythms of the universe has enriched mankind with the splendour of the Vedic hymns ; with the profound wisdom of the Mahabharata; with the astronomical knowledge enshrined in the Chaldean epic of Gilgamash; with the en- during tone of the Iran Avendi ; with the mov- ing drama of Job; with prayers and prophecies of Isaiah ; and with the rhapsodies of the Psalms. To the Occident belongs a sterner instinct, a grimmer gift. As the light of the sun obeys the dividing magic of the prism, so the light of knowledge may be separated into its component parts, whereof the clearer tints enwrap devo- tional philosophies while the deeper colours bathe the pageantries of this material world. The Oc- cident is richer for the stirring pages of the Illiad; the entrancing adventures of Odysseus; the clash of arms and the sea breezes of the Sagas ; the chivalrous teachings of a Roland or a Cid. But in the realms of religion we, of the Western world, stand mouthing misty prose amongst the awed crowds attendant on the dark ceremonials of the Druids, the bloody sacrifices to Odin, or the gloomy meetings in the cave or dell of the early Christians. As it hath been it will be. In the convoluted conch-shell the Oriental hears the mystic music of that eternal Ocean which is the love devine. In the dust of labour and the bush aflame the Occidental sees the trodden path to God. Therefore have we no surprise in finding so eminent a savant of India as Sri Jogesh Chand- er Misrow, one who is the holder of the Master of Arts degree of Stanford and a Doctor of Philosophy, expressing in untrammeled and ingen- uous verse the true self of their author in these SONGS OF THE DAWN. To me it has been a great privilege to read these poems in their manuscript form, and I have discerned, as I ven- ture to think all who must who read with in- ward vision, that the obscurity of our mental skies is bravely pierced by the author with a light of faith in the purposes of life and the themes of his poems are suffused with the tints of a Divine Dawn. It were invidious to select; but poems are like eyes, some appeal to us and claim our sepcial at- tention, admiration. In the "Star-Babies" occurs a motive so charming that in Elizabethan days it had been called a pretty conceit; in the "Incar- nations" the contrast between the golden sands of Egypt, the snows of the Arctic circle and the verdant gardens of India are artistically striking; in the "Moon Stone", we have a song so ardent yet soft that it might fitly borrow the music of one of oft sung Indian Love Lyrics, and "Thy Temple" resounds with fervent ecstasy. It was a favorite saying of the late Sir Edwin Arnold that those who think in poesy have clear- er eyes than those who think in prose, and in wishing bon voyage to these exquisite verses — "The Songs of the Dawn" — I would venture to echo that phrase of the author of the Light of Asia, who loved so well the earnestness and depth of the ancient philosophies of India. Chicago, U. S. A. Julian B. Arnold. October, 1919. CONTENTS Song of the Dawn 17 In the Moon and the Dawn 18 Summer Dawn 19 Star Babies' Moon Mother 20 Moonstone 21 To Bengal 22 Sea or Python 23 My City 24 Shuttle of Fate 25 Sun -- Crucifix 26 Incarnations 27 Why Tonight 28 Response 29 Where Tonight 30 Temptation 31 Forlorn 32 New Cross 33 Coronal 34 Star-Thieves 35 Ode to India 36 Anticipation 37 Pain 38 Mystic Sunset 39 Cathedral 40 Sri Gautama 41 Tonight 42 Bell, Candle and Book 43 Vesper Song 44 Thy Temple 45 Mother 46 Peret Hirshbein 47 Ode to the Indian Ocean 48 The Natal Day 50 The Taj Mahal 51 In Nirvana 52 My Unsung Song 53 DAWN Who shall sing the Song of the Dawn ? Not he who kept the glory of the eve Away from his temple, Barring fast the gates ; Nor he who dreamt night-long Of numbers and scales in busy mart Even though the day was done! The crescent canoe on the sky-ocean Sailing to the dreamland Beckoned in vain to him. His parched lips sipped The fiery draught, Seeking in roar of passion That which silence alone can give, In worship of soul by soul — Vain to him the calm of night. But he who mutely, gently, night-long Vigiled the flickering wick of hope As the storm raged and groaned Without — within — Will he now rekindle the sacred flame With the warmth of his bleeding heart, Now that the storm is gone, And darkness is no more — His is the hour — the day — Sings he the Song of the Dawn! 17 IN THE MOON AND THE DAWN Last eve in the moon Under the bower of the star- vines I vowed the eternal vow, I adored Thee as Love. The evening breeze whispered The passion-mad plea Far and wide — Last eve in the moon. Todav in this Thy dawn, Under the flaming canopy of heaven, In the first rays of the rising sun Thou art transfigured; I worship Thee now, Goddess! The morning wind echoes My sacred chants Far and wide Today — in this Thy dawn ! 18 SUMMER DAWN What musings, what far-off dream — Day-dreams — Come this dawn of June As I softly lay my head Upon the cushion of the grassy knoll Over the bold hill of Krotona — Robed in delicate green garb of summer! I am one with Nature In Life's inmost sanctury. I gaze upon the endless blue billows below And the boundless rosy sky above, And mine eyes drink deep From the fount of thy beauty, Amid these wild flowers that blushingly listen To the birds' amorous wooing And bees' jealous petulant groans. What phantoms come and go! This dawn, ere the light-flood comes To sweep night's languor away, Whilst still throb the warmth of thy touches, The cadence of thy moans, Ere all is lost and forgotten, Oh, let me die the deathless death In thine own arms ! O beauteous bride, sweet Dawn — O Infinity of Form! 19 STAR-BABIES' MOON-MOTHER Mushed is the voice of Night. The Moon-mother has led out The Star-babies a-playing On the blue meadow of the sky. How frolicsome and gay! They romp, skip and run away, Hide-and-seek they play Behind the tapestries of clouds, And climb the arches of rainbow, Then drop upon the earth dew-drops- Their joy-tears shed in play. Hushed is the voice of Night. Where the Earth-children sleep While the Moon-mother plays With wide-awake Star-babies On the blue meadow of the sky, Far, far away. 20 MOONSTONE Deep is the sea — From shore to shore, the sight mergeth Unto the billowy blue Infinity. In its depth lies the gem. In its heart of heart, Amidst what tumult Unseen, invisible it shines In the splendor of seven moons ! Come ! dive deep without faint or fear ! For the lost talisman of immortality Is worthy of none but thee. Thou blessed Princess of the Moon Fear not, though deep is the sea; Thy moonstone waits for thee. 21 TO BENGAL A mountain of dark gray clouds Rises against the roseatte sunset, My last sunset on thy sacred shores O Sweet Bengal — queen of the Indian sea ! The sacred blood of our Sires — The tears of our mothers and maidens. Purest of earth's sweetest blossoms — Envy of the Lotus, Juthie and the Bengal Rose Came crowding on thy horizon Fading fast away . . . Not a sob of wind, Nor a moan of the Bengal Bay ! From the Mangoe and Cocoanut groves The Madana. Moyna, Teeah. Chirp not their salutations sweet, To me and the parting Day. Grief-laden and sullen is the earth, Sullener still the heart. All is mute at this parting . . . Then, as the mountain of dark gray clouds Rises higher and higher hiding Thee from me. Widens the chasm between us, Could I but say to Thee, Adieu, Adieu — My golden Bengal — queen of the Indian Sea ! But silence seals my quivering lips "With cold, cold kisses. All seems mute at this parting, Yet what a symphony of the soul Plays this fallacious silence On this parting day! On the Bengal Bay. 22 SEA OR PYTHON? What a huge blue blazing python This sea! Its thousand wave-hoods arched in rage Hiss fumes of death-gray foams. It writhes, wriggles, dashes and rolls In mammoth longitude — From sky to sky. How in drunken fury, It groans and roars, swings and sways Its breaker fangs Darts to smash the sandy beach — the earth. Oh, whose restless spirit Is this blue blazing Python, Whose impetuosity — This sea? 23 MY CITY Thou art no city, Nor mortal haunt or mart, But a living panorama of spirit, Indomnitable and bold, Incarnate in these thy myriad Marble towers, spires and domes — Heavenward march of Man's inmost urge — Sincere, invincible! None but a dull dead soul May look upon this thy seething whirlpool Of haunted humanity And remain insensate — unmoved ! * * * The breath of dreadful hurricane — thy haste In thy broad bosom meet and mingle The West and East, South and North, Heaven and Hell — pole to pole! And thou blendest Past and Future. Old and New, in one great flood of light. Thy ever-living Present rushes on, Conquering all, inspiring all — Lo ! the citv of faith's eternal flame ! 24 SHUTTLE OF FATE Weave ye shuttle of Fate, Weave on the fabric of life A new and abiding pattern, For the hour has come To alter the "scroll of Xorn." Through the silent depth of night, And loudly sonorous day-long, Weave on silently — the hour cometh ! Unaware we waited long, too long. You in a lonely castle in Sunset Land And I in the wilderness of cities, Awaiting these Ides of March. We knew not it was so nigh. We hatsened not, Nor shall we tarry now, On the path of the pilgrimage far. * * * Inscrutable the design Thou hast woven with skill, O, shuttle of Fate, With time and space, Two hearts with thirst of ages A few flowers of worship, Of love and hope, a few kisses A whisper, tears of joy and pain, And a soul's homage to a soul — Awaiting silently in the lonely castle, So near, yet, so far, far away. 25 THE SUN OR THE CRUCIFIX? The sun, a huge crucifix, Wallows in an ocean of blood. Wave after wave rises and dances Upon the far horizon In the flaming East. Whence this mad rhythm of Nirvana? And what is that upon the crimson crucifix? In the fast fading myriad shapes and colours Transforming this mysterious Cross of majesty, I read a symbol vast and true — A Soul crucified, and more ! * * * The scarlet hues of the eastern sky Like frozen red dream-waves heave, Alas! from whose torn heart? Whose tears unshed? Whose cry unheard? 26 INCARNATIONS Only yesternight, In the shadow of the Pyramids, My own Goddess, Thou and I Watching in silence, Saw the folly of Pharaoh And pride of Cleo of the Nile. Thy rose-lips quivering In soft sweet whispering — And mine? Ah, yesternight on the shore of the Nile, How brief the short-lived joy ! Yesternight — It seems but yesternight — In a valley of midnight sun Between snow-crowned crags of the North Again we watched The fury of the fjords. In strange hush of misty light — The same maddening fury — But ah, how brief was the short-lived joy. Yea, again, And yesternight by the moon In the Peacock garden on the Ganges shore Amid perpetual spring of youth At the threshold of Kama's Ivory Temple How . . . how we met. Yesternight ! For it seems but yesternight. And tonight . . . 27 WHY TONIGHT Why from the fount of immortality Hast thou filled tonight This golden goblet of thine, Beloved? Churning of what ocean deep Has yielded this new ambrosia of hope? To waken what slumbering soul, Draught by draught, Dances this sparkling primal rhythm In sun and moon and stars and man, Thrilling with blind uncertain joy. . . . But why bringest thou so close This golden goblet of thyself, so frail, The first vintage of thy youth, Nectar of the immaculate lotus-bud From thy pool of love infinite — To these parched lips of aeons tonight? * * * Open are the Ivory Gates, A joy-mad earth and hell and paradise, Death and decay are conquered all ! Tonight the soul of soul awakes. A thousand suns shall shine, night-long; There shall be no space, no time ! The divine crown is again Upon the brow of Nature's Queen — Thou, my Beloved, my Eternity! 28 RESPONSE Faint, frail, uncertain of itself, Leaned back in silence In repose of sweet agony In the temple of Night. The stars and moon above Swooned in enchanted sympathy. No, no, away! peep not Into this lonesome heart's castle. Come not so close ! Away from this forbidden garden! Has it been guarded in vain, Awaiting this thy triumphant entry? Ah, this fateful night, I know not myself. Oh, for the awakening of what dead soul Bringest thou me thy response? This all-conquering animation, This world-desire, like an avalanche, Swift, blind, and impetuous Sweeps all — bold and majestic. Tell me, Moon and sweet Star-Maidens Through the voice of the South wind, Why in my blood this delirium? Do you feel with me the same thrills — Tonight, in the far-off sky? Ah, 'tis then the conspiracy of Fate. Come ! be all, and take all Of this garden of life. 29 WHERE TONIGHT Where tonight? Wandering in what far-off clime, Under what strange stars, Watching what deep sea's surging billows- Like the restless soul, Forsaken But unforgotten! Oh! Where tonight? Can it there hear the call Of the shoreless, endless expectancy- Can it there see and feel — Impatient wooing of the rebellious April breeze To spring's adolescent jessamine buds So illuding, amorous and shy- In the pale desolate moon tonight. . . . 30 TEMPTATION If step by step, hand in hand, Thou hast led me on To the Ivory Temple of Dream, Now bid me in, Beloved. Vain this bashful hesitancy now. The rebellious joy, Wakened in the bosom, Is impatient as captive doves; The whole form is a-thrilled In throbs of expectancy. Surging ocean waves Rock and swing in primal rhythm Round the temple of living Spirit In ecstasy of worship — Vain this faltering now. On thy rose-petaled eager lips Comes the sweet silent call, Thine eyes drooping and shy, beckon The message of the North Star; Bid me in, Beloved, Into thy temple of worship, Lest the moon mock me from above. And the night wind spread idle tales Far and wide. 31 FORLORN How impalpable this emptiness— In the stillness of starlight Through the spangles of mist I see not far, very far— I look and look and look in vain Where it was. The night-long Primal warmth of ecstasy Graces my bosom no more. The dew-draped dawn Smiled at the morning glory ; And a stray nightingale Sang its far lone refrain. The vision smiled and murmured And nestled closer, and throbbed As the night fled, dishevelled and deflowered, The snow-shrouds covered evergreen Earth With the widowed mantle of peace . Oh Ave Maria of the morning breeze! 32 NEW CROSS What new cross, wilt thou bid me bear? In what sackcloth and ashes repent? Of what wild honey and locust-flower Wouldst Thou, the New Prophet, partake? Through the valley of the shadow of death To what Golgotha and Gethsemene Will there be the new Dawn And the New Faith proclaimed? What old temple will burst asunder From spire to the base — Cataclysm and earthquake — The mortal globe wrecked to dust By reign of terror and tears. * * * The cross is growing heavier, The crown of thorns pains the brow; The lance has pierced the heart; Life is ebbing out in precious flow. But, Oh, the will — the will — is not done! Still unquafled the cup's bitter dregs. * * * Then adieu, farwell, fair earth ! This new cross, ladder of my paradise For the unspoken whisper I have waited aeons to impart Now I avow — Yea, though it costs me the cross. . . . 33 CORONAL Why weep these tears In this thine hour of triumph, My Fairy Princess, Known to me from birth to birth? Thou hast oft eluded me, Now thy hour cometh once more. Why then weepest thou these tears? May they not again extinguish The flame of abiding faith and love On the altar of thy heart's core, My Fairy Princess, My own Love-Queen? For this worship of an hour Have I not waited aeons? From the star to the star, Moon to the moon, near and far The long, long quest From birth to birth. . . . With my love-light and lyrics I have brought my heart's throne To enthrone thee forever — ever, Queen of Love's Universe. . . . 34 STAR-THIEVES The moonbeams are made Of thy laughter, Thy breath makes fragrant The spring's South Sea breeze. Cunning star-thieves steal The merry twinkle from thine eyes. But tonight I forgive them; They remind me of thee. I am alone. Raven locks and tresses Borrowed from thy graces — They waken in me thy caresses, Tonight, when I am lonely. 35 ODE TO INDIA Inde, my Inde, how sweet thy memory ! Dearest land of sacred lores, Shrine-abode of world-faiths — Man's hope of hopes ! From thy enchanted woodlands Come the echoes of bird-minstrels, The Syamas' whistles, The Papias' songs, Koel's cooing long. The shy bride-eyed fawn's play, In the mossy dales and bowers ; Dance of the proud peacock gay; The Apsara-fairies gambol About sky-kissing Deodars Entwined with frail Malati vines. The maidens of bronze and golden hue With bee-black eyes, coral lips, Languorously weave wreathes of Bakula, In shades of the Taj by the Lotus-lake; And gaze at the dome of frozen tears — Token of Love's triumph o'er Death. What a Paradise on earth unfolds To these exiled eyes. Soul's worship to Thee, And the heart's holiest homage, Stronger than sword's sharpest pledge Are thine and thine own, Above all the world For all the time, All the time, O Inde ! 36 ANTICIPATION This last day of the cycle of the years, As we sit by the fire, What visions come and fade! What signs unfold! Gently the earth beneath kisses your lotus feet. The world looks fair and fresh and free ; Sky so beautiful, so enchantingly blue; How glorious is the sun ! You have given it your heart's warmth To waft to me on ethereal wings. The languor of the virgin Eve — beaming With her youth's intoxicating moonbeams, Is but the image of thine own expectant smile, In anticipation — Of the dawn of the new Aeon! 37 PAIN Ah, Fate give me back my pain, From the soul of the young and the aged, From the heart of the new and the old Pour me all the world's pain. Vast is my bosom — the void . . . Deep as the soundless seas In thy boundless abode Long have I loved to adore. Fate, give me back my pain Ever truest unto me Unfailing in her trysts Clinging closer, closer to my heart. ♦ * * Then come, from those sunset shores Within this enchanted bower That in Life's scented sanctuary 1 may woo thee again, Pain ! With caresses of love's festive hour . . . Pain, world pain, love . . . As the rose-bud shiveringly blushes At the bees' first tender touches, There blends the rhythm of hues With melodies of hum and moans. So are thine echoes inexplicable On my desolate harp of soul. Born with the Earth's first-born — Whose joy art thou, Pain! My all in all, my very own . . . 38 MYSTIC SUNSET What mysterious signs on the horizon — Can this be only a sunset? No, no ! who has ever seen such a sky As we two see from the niche of thy bower, Over forests green towers, And snow-clad dales. Far, far out, The sky is an ocean of soft light, As far as we two can see And beyond. . . . O Thou sacred Land of the Aryans — Inde, our asylum of hope, Far, far out, across the sea of light, We greet Thee with heart and soul— Our dreams and hopes. O the golden-crowned monarch, O the purple-robed king of the sky And lord of the virgin dawn, Two of thy children, Love-lorn and weary Look at Thee With wistful eyes and eager hearts, Seeking a nook to nest young love, A refuge from a stolid world, From a decaying, death-dealing horde. May these mysterious signs then Forbode the fulfilment of our dream Call us to the holy Ganges shores, In joy and glory of freedom! 39 CATHEDRAL What a towering green-blue dome Of foliage overhead Kisses the azure sky. Corridor of arches dense and deep The mammoth boughs outspread, Rest on the columns of ivory gray Living monoliths tall and straight ! Entwining all, climb and cling The vines of Kanaka Lata — Golden ivies with blushing coral blossoms Peep through the veil of purple mist. Incense of the flowering spring Wafts with the heavy moan Of the wooing and the mating doves, Languorous in the slumbering shade above. Steeped in majestic calm of ages Awaits, alas, whose pilgrimage, Whose loving worship This Cathedral of the Bodhee tree ! 40 SRI GAUTAMA Enshrined in the temple of space Enthroned on Eternity Thine gemmed-lotus — the Mahasan Heart of Humanity. The star-candles, The silvery Mirror of the Moon, The gong of pealing thunders The sonorous tolls of thousand vesper bells In the distant roar of the Deep. These are but meagre adoration Of Thee— O blessed Gautama! Thy golden chariot On million Sun-disks, Wheels 'round the Infinity, With what a resplendence! Thy loving wisdom, joy of growth — ■ Unfolds soul of Freedom and Peace — Thy song of Nirvana, Brings whispers of undying Hope ! 41 TONIGHT The dreadful Angel With dark wings overspread Enmeshes the earth from pole to pole. The rain, her sobs, The snow, her frozen tears, The wild winds of the West, her sighs. Tonight all is dread, terror and tears. Lo, those death-dark wings come nearer now, Strangle life, pull heart-strings And wildly laugh and mock, They crush and crush Atom by atom, petal by petal, Youth's sweetest dream-rose, Hope's choicest bud ! How cruel night's dark wings ! BELL, CANDLE, AND BOOK Bell, Candle and Book, A little incense and myrrh — No purple crepe Nor any black-gowned pale-faced mourner, No orgies of tears and sobs and sighs, Mocking and insensate, When I pass unto Nirvana! The bells of the west wind Blowing in gale, The candles of the midnight stars On the salver of the sky, And this Thy Book of Fate With life's hidden lores unsipped, unexplored, A single violet or lotus, Sweet flower of fancy In the garden of Thine and mine, Are all that I ask. Sing no songs of sorrow, No psaltry of sobs ; Toll no other bells, Light no other candles, Read no other book When I flicker out — Unto Nirvana! No heavy stones on my frail form, My cold ,cold ashes. Memorial ? Only a pearl wreath Woven of thy tear-drops My last memories Mothered in Earth's bosom With thy Bell, Candle and Book ! 43 THE VESPER SONG My Love, O come, and watch with me The farewell beams kissing the sea ; With bridal veils of evening trails, Sweetly entwines each vine and tree. In primal chants the gentle lea, As love-lorn lights longingly flee, Whispers soft in its vesper glee — Come, Soul-mate, come ! Heart longs for thee. Ah, arm in arm, our hearts beat one : Love's coronal though far is won — Thus we triumph, though world forsak'n, This eve regain our long lost heav'n ! 44 THY TEMPLE Oh, where shall I build Thee a temple, The sky so low, dwarfs its spires, The Void small, ah, too small, The universe none too wide for a base, For thy fitting Temple Loving Goddess mine . . . How shall I worship Thee — All the flowers of all the lands, Of every season and hue and scent, And the flaming lotus of my soul Have I sanctified in offering to Thee, Loving Goddess mine. And where are my chant and rosary? Amid the deep symphony of the Seas The wild gale danceth with wilder waves Thy vestal virginal dance of my senses . . My rosary of the Stars — Thunder Heralds on chariot of clouds Mingle their trumpet blares, With the sweet choristers of the song birds- Vesper and Matin of their strains . . . The Planets dance in Space A timeless, endless, ceaseless dance In my own ecstasy. Shall Thy Temple be— In my Soul's inmost sanctuary? 45 MOTHER Thine own garland this I lay at thy lotus feet, Mother mine Woven of strange blossoms though, Plucked from strange gardens Across the seven seas, On this pilgrimage from shore to shore Away, far away from Thee . . . Thine own hymn this, I now scribe and chant, Mother mine, Though in tongues strange, Of distant lands and lores, Across the seven seas On this pilgrimage from shore to shore Seeking a Hymnal for Thee . . . Thine own worship — All my noble thought and deed Mother Mine! In thy boundless love, 1 have made the world one with me ! May I live and labour and die for Thee : Sing the song of Thy freedom — Wherever may I be, Thine annointed and ordained ! Unconquered, unconquerable — O. Mother Mine! 46 TO PERET HIRSHBEIN Thou celestial song-bard! Poet-priest of Youth's abiding hope, The enduring faith of Ages. How the world old dreams, Once sleeping in the stars And in the eyes of youth. Now kiss the light, on the wings Of thy colors and shades and words. Glory, joy, mirth, love, Weave pearl wreaths of morning dew. Fancy with her amorous arms And vibrant ruby lips sips Nectar from life's first feast Of Passion sublime ! 47 ODE TO THE INDIAN OCEAN Ocean, Indian Ocean, my own ocean! Last eve did I hear in thee, The uproar — tumult of a soul ; A voice that shivered to the suns, And the moons and the stars, And to all the worlds unseen! Came there life's first ecstasy — The rebellious adolescence, Amid the rapturous song of thy tides. In the dance of thy impatient waves, Came to the eyes a vision sublime, Playing with the heart's impetuous flames. In what a holocaust of raging passion, The whole universe was aflame — Last eve as I gazed upon thee ! But this dawn — As thou reclinest on the divan Of the ivory shores of Jagannath, So langourous, pale and wan, What a gentle melody comes in thy moans ! What loving caresses — In thy million arms. Now calm — All is calm, without — within ! The incense-kissed breeze of the dawn Plays with thy golden locks; Scatters them to the four-winds. Then weaves them into garlands. Of new planets and globes ! 48 The call of the Puri Matin-bells Mingles with the melody of thy echoes, Summon all to the Temple of Silence- A hush . . . Thou ecstasy of triumphant hopes Ocean, Indian ocean, My ocean ! My very own . . . 49 NATAL DAY To-day is the day of days Thy natal day, my love And loves crowning day ! What shall I offer thee, Princess mine, my love-goddess With what shall I worship thee — On this day of day — thy natal day? The ruby-red roses, Of my ocean deep passion — Have I not offered thee Long, long ago? And did not you Crush them to thy bosom — In ecstasy of response? My silver-white rosary, I brought to thee, My calm dreams; Thine also the incense Of my soul's resplendent gleam ; Thine the golden lotus W r ith the thousand petals — My lyrics of the Dawn — For thee — all for thee. On this day of day, and evermore! Ah, what else have I, but thyself? 50 THE TAJ MAHAL The Taj now like a huge white swan Floats on the ocean of moon beams, As the world round vanishes Into the opalesque ethereal mists Of this autumn full moon night. There is naught but the pale pangs Silhoueted in an earthly form In this silent shrine of sorrow This Palace of Pain. This lyric in stone chaste and enduring O what a refrain brings from the Past — They that build shrines to the vain gods, Or fearsome ghosts, cruel phantoms, Or the unseen hosts of the skies, May scoff at thee, pass thee by, unheeding; But O marble mausoleum, every atom of thee, Is but frozen anguish and ecstasy of love. Art thou not a living throbbing loving Token. Of all that Man feels and forfeits, At the Altar of the One lost yet adored In this pilgrimage of Life to Death! Symbol of a soul's enduring bliss, art thou, O TAJ — O noble Temple of Tears! 51 IN NIRVANA Xo, Thou art gone ; but not dead ! Thou can'st not die, O spirit invincible ! Invisible though now, Beloved, Thou art nearest to me than ever before, Dwelling in my own temple of thought ! The Champa, Shefali and Jui yet bloom. At rise and set of the Sun and the Moon ; The birds sing and the bees hum ; Murmuring flows the Ganges streams. Do they not bring the far off echoes of thy voice? When all is here ; all who adored thee, — What if atom to atom did fly? The dust unto the dusty earth — To the tempest impetuous, thy breath ; To the clouds the water and tears ; Elements play of hide and seek — On the lap of adoring Nature, all this ! But thy spirit? So gentle and sweet and loving — Closest of all my kins on this globe. By the tie of flesh and blood, Faith and hope and more ! Lo, this incense upward climbing. Vault by vault, star by star. To the seven heavens and the beyond. Like pilgrimage of thy soul of soul! Shall I weep and sob and sigh For thee, O child of Immortality? When through the Gates of Death Into the Shrine of Infinity of Bliss Attainest thou thy quest — thy Mukti. ( ) child of Brahman, so sweet and free ! For thee now is the Repose, In the glory of the Nirvana! 52 UNSONG SONG The unsung song wails, Wails for the lost chord From the gray depths of ocean To the tower of the stars — All is wailing, Wailing. Day-long, night-long, Vault to vault, Echoing in eternal throbs, Danceth in color and sound, In aeons of autumn, summer and spring My own unsung song. The whisperings of my soul — I hear in chirping birds ! The wail of the west wind, Thunder of the cloud-sprite, Incessant calling of the sea, And the dreamy hum of the honey-bees Bring but a faint refrain Through the infinite rhythm Of my own unsung song! 53 THE WORKS OF DR. J. C. M1SROW , M. A., Ph. D. Usha Songita, {Songs of the Dawn) $1. 25 Other Books by Dr. J. C. Misrow, M. A., Ph. D. Soul-Quest 50c Man trams sacred verses for Life's efficient action, power, peace and poise. These are the psalms of the unity in variety of spiritual consecration. Their appeal is universal; their tone sublime and inspiring. It is indispensable to all students of self-devel- opment. IN PREPARATION: Indo-English Poets $1.25 India's contribution to the newer English poetry. This interesting work forcefully and capably dis- cerns the deepening and widening note of the English poetry as influenced by the genius of India. In a brief but comprehensive exposition, critical study, and sympathetic interpretation of the life, works, the background and inspiration of Tagore, Kipling, Naidu, Toru Dutt, and other Indo- English poets it foreshadows the nature of the renaissance now on the threshold of the English literature. Indispensable to all students and lovers of poetry of the East and the West. Outcastes—Soul of the Sudra $1. 25. Cloth, $1.50, A Drama in three acts. Powerful, and full of human interests. Masterly depiction of life-strug- 55 glee of outcasts, as only a great artist with keen analytical power, vigorous perception, and sincere sympathy is capable of. It is surely to be recog- nized as one of the supreme dramatic works of any time, anywhere. It is the key to the Psychology of new India, the renaissance in the Hindu social consciousness for universal fellowship; and the present upheaval in the Sudra Souls the world over. To Be Had at East and West Advancement League 233 S. Ashland Blvd., Chicago And at All Important Bookstores and Publishers in Great Britain and America 56 W 82 4°** Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proces Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide OP ' *'VU^^ k # % n Treatment Date: June 2009 %' '* \* \, . . , %'* • ' * ' *° PreservationTechnologies * *il^^!'<» ^ A^ ► A W0RLD LEA0ER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION k 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 • mwr \ m -w > V^l' * c°^ • •Jit V , 4> 6 A* . h°* rrr-' .^ «v **o« «< .• > v ^ tf ^ V „* 3 fe: W :'^tef: V< 6 &&L: °«,.-/ ,1^ o Sink V .rP^J^V >\<^ ^ ^ *' W5RTB00KBINDING m -s s Gramvilte, PA I L— 1 c° SJ£&. % "o. -. r , ,0° • ^ A* ,VWV. V H '« ■ ■