Bowing in reverence, Sudata said: 
  “I know the Buddha never seeks repose,
  But gladly toils to give to others rest. 
  O that my people, now in darkness sunk,
  Might see the light and hear the master’s words! 
  I dwell in King Pasenit’s distant realm—­
  A king renowned, a country fair and rich—­
  And yearn to build a great vihara there.” 
  The master, knowing well Sudata’s heart
  And his unselfish charity, replied: 
  “Some give in hope of greater gifts returned;
  Some give to gain a name for charity;
  Some give to gain the rest and joy of heaven,
  Some to escape the woes and pains of hell. 
  Such giving is but selfishness and greed,
  But he who gives without a selfish thought
  Has entered on the noble eightfold path,
  Is purified from anger, envy, hate. 
  The bonds of pain and sorrow are unloosed;
  The way to rest and final rescue found. 
  Let your hands do what your kind heart desires.”

  Hearing this answer, he departs with joy,
  And Buddha with him Saraputra sent. 
  Arriving home, he sought a pleasant spot,
  And found the garden of Pasenit’s son,
  And sought the prince, seeking to buy the ground. 
  But he refused to sell, yet said in jest: 
  “Cover the grove with gold, the ground is yours.” 
  Forthwith Sudata spread his yellow coin. 
  But Gata said, caught by his thoughtless jest: 
  “Spread not your gold—­I will not sell the ground.” 
  “Not sell the ground?” Sudata sharply said,
  “Why then said you, ’Fill it with yellow gold’?”
  And both contending sought a magistrate. 
  But Gata, knowing well his earnestness,
  Asked why he sought the ground; and when he learned,
  He said:  “Keep half your gold; the land is yours,
  But mine the trees, and jointly we will build
  A great vihara for the Buddha’s use.” 
  The work begun was pressed both night and day;
  Lofty it rose, in just proportions built,
  Fit for the palace of a mighty king. 
  The people saw this great vihara rise,
  A stately palace for a foreign prince,
  And said in wonder:  “What strange thing is this? 
  Our king to welcome thus a foreign king
  To new-made palaces, and not with war
  And bloody spears and hands to new-made graves,
  As was his father’s wont in times gone by?”
  Yet all went forth to meet this coming prince,
  And see a foreign monarch’s royal pomp,
  But heard no trumpeting of elephants,
  Nor martial music, nor the neigh of steeds,
  But saw instead a little band draw near
  In yellow robes, with dust and travel-stained;
  But love, that like a holy halo crowned
  That dusty leader’s calm, majestic brow,
  Hushed into silence every rising sneer. 
  And when Sudata met this weary band,
  And to the prince’s garden led their way,
  They followed on, their hands in reverence joined,