And loving acts like ripened fruits may hang.
Then, chiding not, with earnest words he urged
Humanity to man, kindness to beasts,
Pure words, kind acts, in all our daily walks.
As better than the blood of lambs and goats.
Better than incense or the chanted hymn,
To cleanse the heart and please the powers above,
And fill the world with harmony and peace,
Till pricked in heart, the priest let fall his knife;
The Brahmans listening, ceased to chant their hymns;
The king drank in his words with eager ears;
And from that day no altar dripped with blood,
But flowers instead breathed forth their sweet perfumes.
And when that troubled day drew near its close,
Joy filled once more that shepherd's humble home,
From door to door his simple story flew,
And when the king entered his palace gates,
New thoughts were surging in his wakened soul.

But though the beasts have lairs, the birds have nests,
Buddha had not whereon to lay his head,
Not even a mountain-cave to call his home;
And forth he fared, heedless about his way--
For every way was now alike to him.
Heedless of food, his alms-bowl hung unused.
While all the people stood aside with awe,
And to their children pointed out the man
Who plead the shepherd's cause before the king.
At length he passed the city's western gate,
And crossed the little plain circling its walls.