And here, under a sacred peepul’s shade,
  Two Brahmans, famed for sanctity, had dwelt
  For many years, all cares of life cast off,
  Who by long fastings sought to make the veil
  Of flesh translucent to the inner eye;
  Eyes fixed intently on the nose’s tip,
  To lose all consciousness of outward things;
  By breath suppressed to still the outer pulse,
  So that the soul might wake to conscious life,
  And on unfolded wings unchecked might rise. 
  And in the purest auras freely soar,
  Above cross-currents that engender clouds
  Where thunders roll, and quick cross-lightnings play,
  To view the world of causes and of life,
  And bathe in light that knows no night, no change. 
  With eager questionings he sought to learn,
  While they with gentle answers gladly taught
  All that their self-denying search had learned. 
  And thus he passed his days and months and years,
  In constant, patient, earnest search for light,
  With longer fastings and more earnest search,
  While day by day his body frailer grew,
  Until his soul, loosed from its earthly bonds,
  Sometimes escaped its narrow prison-house,
  And like the lark to heaven’s gate it soared,
  To view the glories of the coming dawn. 
  But as he rose, the sad and sorrowing world,
  For which his soul with tender love had yearned,
  Seemed deeper in the nether darkness sunk,
  Beyond his reach, beyond his power to save,
  When sadly to his prison-house he turned,
  Wishing no light that did not shine for all.

  Six years had passed, six long and weary years,
  Since first he left the world to seek for light. 
  Knowledge he found, knowledge that soared aloft
  To giddy heights, and sounded hidden depths,
  Secrets of knowledge that the Brahmans taught
  The favored few, but far beyond the reach
  Of those who toil and weep and cry for help;
  A light that gilds the highest mountain-tops,
  But leaves the fields and valleys dark and cold;
  But not that living light for which he yearned,
  To light life’s humble walks and common ways,
  And send its warmth to every heart and home,
  As spring-time sends a warm and genial glow
  To every hill and valley, grove and field,
  Clothing in softest verdure common grass,
  As well as sandal-trees and lofty palms.

  One night, when hope seemed yielding to despair,
  Sleepless he lay upon the earth—­his bed—­
  When suddenly a white and dazzling light
  Shone through the cave, and all was dark again. 
  Startled he rose, then prostrate in the dust,
  His inmost soul breathed forth an earnest prayer[1]
  That he who made the light would make it shine
  Clearer and clearer to that perfect day,
  When innocence, and peace, and righteousness
  Might fill the earth, and ignorance and fear,
  And cruelty and crime, might fly away,