That leads to purity and peace and life.
But helping hands will aid those struggling up;
A warning voice may check those hasting down.
Men are like lilies in yon shining pool:
Some sunk in evil grovel in the dust,
Loving like swine to wallow in the mire--
Like those that grow within its silent depths,
Scarce raised above its black and oozy bed;
While some love good, and seek the purest light,
Breathing sweet fragrance from their gentle lives--
Like those that rise above its glassy face,
Sparkling with dewdrops, royally arrayed,
Drinking the brightness of the morning sun,
Distilling odors through the balmy air;
But countless multitudes grope blindly on,
Shut out from light and crushed by cruel castes,
Willing to learn, whom none will deign to teach,
Willing to rise, whom none will deign to guide,
Who from the cradle to the silent grave,
Helpless and hopeless, only toil and weep--
Like those that on the stagnant waters float,
Smothered with leaves, covered with ropy slime,
That from the rosy dawn to dewy eve
Scarce catch one glimmer of the glorious sun.
The good scarce need, the bad will scorn, my aid;
But these poor souls will gladly welcome help.
Welcome to me the scorn of rich and great,
Welcome the Brahman's proud and cold disdain,
Welcome revilings from the rabble rout,
If I can lead some groping souls to light--