And Death unweaves the webs of Life.
For us the travail1 and the heat, The broken secrets of our pride, The strenuous2 lessons of defeat, The flower deferred3, the fruit denied; But not the peace, supremely4 won, Lord Buddha5, of thy Lotus-throne.
With futile6 hands we seek to gain Our inaccessible7 desire, Diviner summits to attain8, With faith that sinks and feet that tire; But nought9 shall conquer or control The heavenward hunger of our soul.
The end, elusive10 and afar, Still lures11 us with its beckoning12 flight, And all our mortal moments are A session of the Infinite. How shall we reach the great, unknown Nirvana of thy Lotus-throne?