steps—­
  A power unseen yet ever hovering near—­
  They saw the truth of Buddha’s burning words
  That selfishness and greed drag down the soul,
  While love can nerve the feeblest arm with strength,
  And asked that Purna take them as his aids.

  But ere brave Purna reached his journey’s end,
  Near many hamlets, many Indian towns,
  The moon, high risen to mark the noon of night,
  Through many sacred fig-tree’s rustling leaves[2]
  Sent trembling rays with trembling shadows mixed
  Upon a noble youth in orange robes,
  His alms-bowl by his side, stretched out in sleep,
  Dreaming, perchance, of some Benares maid,
  Perchance of home and joys so lately left.

  Meanwhile the master with his little band
  Toward Rajagriha backward wends his way,
  Some village tree their nightly resting—­place,
  Until they reached the grove that skirts the base
  Of that bold mountain called the vulture-peak,
  Through which the lotus-covered Phalgu glides,
  O’erarched with trees festooned with trailing vines,
  While little streams leap down from rock to rock,
  Cooling the verdant slopes and fragrant glades,
  And vines and shrubs and trees of varied bloom
  Loaded the air with odors rich and sweet,
  And where that sacred fig-tree spread its shade
  Above the mound that held the gathered dust
  Of those sage Brahmans who had sought to aid
  The young prince struggling for a clearer light,
  And where that banyan-tree for ages grew,
  So long the home of those five noble youths,
  Now sundered far, some tree when night may fall
  Their resting-place, their robe and bowl their all,
  Their only food chance gathered day by day,
  Preaching the common brotherhood of man,
  Teaching the law of universal love,
  Bearing the light to those in darkness sunk,
  Lending a helping hand to those in need,
  Teaching the strong that gentleness is great. 
  And through this grove where many noble souls
  Were seeking higher life and clearer light,
  He took his well-known way, and reached his cave
  Just as the day was fading into night,
  And myriad stars spangled the azure vault,
  And myriad lamps that through the darkness shone
  Revealed the city that the night had veiled,
  Where soon their weary limbs were laid to rest;
  But through the silent hour preceding day,
  Before the jungle-cock announced the dawn,
  All roused from sleep in meditation sat. 
  But when the sun had set the east aglow,
  And roused the birds to sing their matin-song’s,
  And roused the lowing herds to call their mates,
  And roused a sleeping world to daily toil,
  Their matins chanted, their ablutions made,
  With bowl and staff in hand they took their way
  Down to the city for their daily alms.