waves,
  They say that Brahmans are a holy caste,
  Of whiter skin and higher, purer blood,
  From Brahma sprung, and Brahma’s only heirs,
  While you proclaim, if rumor speaks the truth,
  That only one hard road to Brahma leads,
  That every caste is pure, of common blood,
  That all are brothers, all from Brahma sprung.”

  But Buddha, full of gentleness, replied: 
  “Ye call on Dyaus Pittar, Brahma, God,[8]
  One God and Father, called by many names,
  One God and Father, seen in many forms,
  Seen in the tempest, mingling sea and sky,
  The blinding sand-storm, changing day to night,
  In gentle showers refreshing thirsty fields,
  Seen in the sun whose rising wakes the world,
  Whose setting calls a weary world to rest,
  Seen in the deep o’erarching azure vault,
  By day a sea of light, shining by night
  With countless suns of countless worlds unseen,
  Making us seem so little, God so great. 
  Ye say that Brahma dwells in purest light;
  Ye say that Brahma’s self is perfect love;
  Ye pray to Brahma under many names
  To give you Brahma Loca’s perfect rest.[9]
  Your prayers are vain unless your hearts are clean. 
  For how can darkness dwell with perfect light? 
  And how can hatred dwell with perfect love? 
  The slandering tongue, that stirs up strife and hate,
  The grasping hand, that takes but never gives,
  The lying lips, the cold and cruel heart,
  Whence bitterness and wars and murders spring,
  Can ne’er by prayers to Brahma Loca climb.[10]
  The pure in heart alone with Brahma dwell. 
  Ye say that Brahmans are a holy caste,
  From Brahma sprung and Brahma’s only heirs;
  But yet in Bactria, whence our fathers came,
  And where their brothers and our kindred dwell,
  No Brahman ever wore the sacred cord. 
  Has mighty Brahma there no son, no heir? 
  The Brahman mother suffers all the pangs
  Kshatriyas, Sudras or the Vassas feel. 
  The Brahman’s body, when the soul has fled,
  A putrid mass, defiles the earth and air,
  Vile as the Sudras or the lowest beasts. 
  The Brahman murderer, libertine or thief
  Ye say will be reborn in lowest beast,
  While some poor Sudra, full of gentleness
  And pity, charity and trust and love,
  May rise to Brahma Loca’s perfect rest,
  Why boast of caste, that seems so little worth
  To raise the soul or ward off human ill? 
  Why pray for what we do not strive to gain? 
  Like merchants on the swollen Ganges’ bank
  Praying the farther shore to come to them,
  Taking no steps, seeking no means, to cross. 
  Far better strive to cast out greed and hate. 
  Live not for self, but live for others’ good. 
  Indulge no bitter speech, no bitter thoughts. 
  Help those in need; give freely what we have. 
  Kill not, steal not, and ever speak the truth.