| Such Mercy that even to an ant
Would brook not the least harm to befall,
O Mercy-Maker do vouchsafe with contemplation
Which from Thy pure Presence never strays.
Grace yields blessedness; a heart Love-empty
Disaster spells of every kind.
Darkness as Love's effacer and as suffering's core,
Is seed to everything.
Grace, Love, Mercy --all the three
Stand for one same reality --Life's Star.
"He who loves is he who really lives." Do learn
These syllables nine by heart, in place of lettered charm.
Without the gift of Grace, a mere body
Of bone and skin and tissue foul is man
Like water lost in desert sand,
Like flower or fruit bereft of smell.
Those phases six that life do overtake
Invade not wisdom's pure domain;
Likewise the mercy quality, when human form has gone,
As good reputation's form endures.
That Dispenser of Mercy, could He not be that reality
Who proclaiming words of supreme import, the chariot drives,
Or compassion's ocean, ever impatient for all creation,
Or who in terms clear non-dual wisdom expounds, the Guru?
In human semblance here is He a divinity,
Or perhaps the law of right in sacred human form?
Is He the pure begotten Son of the Lord Most High?
Or kindly Prophet Nabi, pearl and gem in one?
Is He that soul personified who with holy ashes once
Fever drove away and many wonders worked?
Or yet that other of psychic power who wandering in agony,
Allayed His ventral distress even with song?
Else is He that sage of crowning fame who uttered once again
That holy script already known and writ in Hara's name?
Or He devoted to the value of the Lord Supreme
Who here departed bodily ere life for him was stilled?
Dealing bounty here on earth and taking human form
Is He that Kama-Dhenu cow of all-providing good?
Or perhaps that wonder-tree of heaven supreme,
The Deva-Taru which to each its gifts bestows?
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