Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda
Volume 8
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Writings: Poems
An Interesting Correspondence
Thou Blessed Dream
Light
The Living God
To an Early Violet
To My Own Soul
The Dance of Shiva
Shiva in Ecstasy
To Shri Khrishna
A Hymn to Shri Ramakrishna
A Hymn to Shri Ramakrishna
No One to Blame
AN INTERESTING CORRESPONDENCE
(In order to truly appreciate this correspondence, the reader has to be informed of the occasion which gave rise to it and also to remember the relation that existed between the correspondents. At the outset of the first letter the Swami speaks of "the hard raps" that he gave to this correspondent. These were nothing but a very strong letter which he wrote to her in vindication of his position on the 1st February, 1895, which will be found reproduced in the fifth volume of the Complete Works of the Swami. It was a very beautiful letter full of the fire of a Sannyâsin's spirit, and we request our readers to go through it before they peruse the following text. Mary Hale, to whom the Swami wrote, was one of the two daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Hale whom the Swami used to address as Father Pope and Mother Church. The Misses Hales and their two cousins were like sisters to him, and they also in their turn held the Swami in great love and reverence. Some of the finest letters of the Swami were written to them.
In the present correspondence the Swami is seen in a new light, playful and intensely human, yet keyed to the central theme of his life, Brahmajnâna. The first letter was written from New York, 15th February 1895 — Ed.)
Now Sister Mary,
You need not be sorry
For the hard raps I gave you,
You know full well,
Though you like me tell,
With my whole heart I love you.
The babies I bet,
The best friends I met,
Will stand by me in weal and woe.
And so will I do,
You know it too.
Life, name, or fame, even heaven forgo
For the sweet sisters four
Sans reproche et sans peur,
The truest, noblest, steadfast, best.
The wounded snake its hood unfurls,
In warp and woof of thought are set,
Earth, hells, and heavens, or worst or best.
Know these are but the outer crust —
All space and time, all effect, cause.
I am beyond all sense, all thoughts,
The witness of the universe.
Not two or many, 'tis but one,
And thus in me all me's I have;
I cannot hate, I cannot shun
Myself from me, I can but love.
From dreams awake, from bonds be free,
Be not afraid. This mystery,
My shadow, cannot frighten me,
Know once for all that I am He.
Well, so far my poetry. Hope you are all right. Give my love to
mother and Father Pope. I am busy to death and have almost
no time to write even a line.
So excuse me if later on I am rather late in writing.
Yours eternally,
VIVEKANANDA.
Miss M.B.H. sent Swami the following doggerel in reply:
The monk he would a poet be
And wooed the muse right earnestly;
In thought and word he could well beat her,
What bothered him though was the metre.
His feet were all too short too long,
The form not suited to his song;
He tried the sonnet, lyric, epic,
And worked so hard, he waxed dyspeptic.
While the poetic mania lasted
He e'en from vegetables fasted,
Which Léon (Leon Landberg, a disciple of the Swami who lived
with him for some time.) had with tender care
Prepared for Swami's dainty fare.
One day he sat and mused alone —
Sudden a light around him shone,
The "still small voice" his thoughts inspire
And his words glow like coals of fire.
And coals of fire they proved to be
Heaped on the head of contrite me —
My scolding letter I deplore
And beg forgiveness o'er and o'er.
The lines you sent to your sisters four
Be sure they'll cherish evermore
For you have made them clearly see
The one main truth that "all is He".
Then Swami:
In days of yore,
On Ganga's shore preaching,
A hoary priest was teaching
How Gods they come
As Sitâ Râm,
And gentle Sita pining, weeping.
The sermons end,
They homeward wend their way —
The hearers musing, thinking.
When from the crowd
A voice aloud
This question asked beseeching, seeking —
"Sir, tell me, pray,
Who were but they
These Sita Ram you were teaching, speaking!"
So Mary Hale,
Allow me tell,
You mar my doctrines wronging, baulking.
I never taught
Such queer thought
That all was God — unmeaning talking!
But this I say,
Remember pray,
That God is true, all else is nothing,
This world's a dream
Though true it seem,
And only truth is He the living!
The real me is none but He,
And never, never matter changing!
With undying love and gratitude to you all. . . .
VIVEKANANDA.
And then Miss M.B.H. :
The difference I clearly see
'Twixt tweedledum and tweedledee —
That is a proposition sane,
But truly 'tis beyond my vein
To make your Eastern logic plain.
If "God is truth, all else is naught,"
This "world a dream", delusion up wrought,
What can exist which God is not?
All those who "many" see have much to fear,
He only lives to whom the "One" is clear.
So again I say
In my poor way,
I cannot see but that all's He,
If I'm in Him and He in me.
Then the Swami replied:
Of temper quick, a girl unique,
A freak of nature she,
A lady fair, no question there,
Rare soul is Miss Mary.
Her feelings deep she cannot keep,
But creep they out at last,
A spirit free, I can foresee,
Must be of fiery cast.
Tho' many a lay her muse can bray,
And play piano too,
Her heart so cool, chills as a rule
The fool who comes to woo.
Though, Sister Mary, I hear they say
The sway your beauty gains,
Be cautious now and do not bow,
However sweet, to chains.
For 'twill be soon, another tune
The moon-struck mate will hear
If his will but clash, your words will hash
And smash his life I fear.
These lines to thee, Sister Mary,
Free will I offer, take
"Tit for tat" — a monkey chat,
For monk alone can make.
THOU BLESSED DREAM
(Written to Miss Christine Greenstidel from Paris, 14th August 1900.)
If things go ill or well —
If joy rebounding spreads the face,
Or sea of sorrow swells —
A play — we each have part,
Each one to weep or laugh as may;
Each one his dress to don —
Its scenes, alternative shine and rain.
Thou dream, O blessed dream!
Spread far and near thy veil of haze,
Tone down the lines so sharp,
Make smooth what roughness seems.
No magic but in thee!
Thy touch makes desert bloom to life.
Harsh thunder, sweetest song,
Fell death, the sweet release.
LIGHT
(From a letter to Miss MacLeod, 26th December 1900 (Vide Vol. VI.))
I look behind and after
If things go ill or well —
And find that all is right,
In my deepest sorrows
There is a soul of light.
THE LIVING GOD
(Written to an American friend from Almora, 9th July 1897.)
He who is in you and outside you,
Who works through all hands,
Who walks on all feet,
Whose body are all ye,
Him worship, and break all other idols!
He who is at once the high and low,
The sinner and the saint,
Both God and worm,
Him worship — visible, knowable, real, omnipresent,
Break all other idols!
In whom is neither past life
Nor future birth nor death,
In whom we always have been
And always shall be one,
Him worship. Break all other idols!
Ye fools! who neglect the living God,
And His infinite reflections with which the world is full.
While ye run after imaginary shadows,
That lead alone to fights and quarrels,
Him worship, the only visible!
Break all other idols!
TO AN EARLY VIOLET
(Written to a Western lady-disciple from New York, 6th January 1896.)
What though thy bed be frozen earth,
Thy cloak the chilling blast;
What though no mate to cheer thy path,
Thy sky with gloom o'ercast;
What though if love itself doth fail,
Thy fragrance strewed in vain;
What though if bad o'er good prevail,
And vice o'er virtue reign:
Change not thy nature, gentle bloom,
Thou violet, sweet and pure,
But ever pour thy sweet perfume
Unasked, unstinted, sure!
TO MY OWN SOUL
(Composed at Ridgely Manor, New York, in 1899.)
Hold yet a while, Strong Heart,
Not part a lifelong yoke
Though blighted looks the present, future gloom.
And age it seems since you and I began our
March up hill or down. Sailing smooth o'er
Seas that are so rare —
Thou nearer unto me, than oft-times I myself —
Proclaiming mental moves before they were!
Reflector true — Thy pulse so timed to mine,
Thou perfect note of thoughts, however fine —
Shall we now part, Recorder, say?
In thee is friendship, faith,
For thou didst warn when evil thoughts were brewing —
And though, alas, thy warning thrown away,
Went on the same as ever — good and true.
THE DANCE OF SHIVA
(Translated from a Bengali song.)
Lo, the God is dancing
— Shiva the all-destroyer and Lord of creation,
The Master of Yoga and the wielder of Pinâka. (Trident.)
His flaming locks have filled the sky,
Seven worlds play the rhythm
As the trembling earth sways almost to dissolution,
Lo, the Great God Shiva is dancing.
SHIVA IN ECSTASY
(Translated from a Bengali song.)
Shiva is dancing, lost in the ecstasy of Self, sounding his
own cheeks.
His tabor is playing and the garland of skulls is swinging
in rhythm.
The waters of the Ganga are roaring among his matted
locks.
The great trident is vomiting fire, and the moon on his
forehead is fiercely flaming.
TO SHRI KRISHNA
( A Song in Hindi)
O Krishna, my friend, let me go to the water,
O let me go today.
Why play tricks with one who is already thy slave?
O friend, let me go today, let me go.
I have to fill my pitcher in the waters of the Jumna.
I pray with folded hands, friend, let me go.
A HYMN TO SHRI RAMAKRISHNA
( In Sanskrit)
1. Om! Hrim! Thou art the True, the Imperturbable One, transcending the three Gunas and yet adored for Thy virtues! Inasmuch as I do not worship day and night, with yearning, Thy compassionate lotus feet which destroy all ignorance, therefore, O Thou friend of the lowly, Thou art my only refuge.
2. Spiritual powers, reverence, and worship which put an end to this cycle of birth and death are enough indeed to lead to the greatest Truth. But this while finding utterance through the mouth is not at all being brought home to my heart. Therefore, O Thou friend of the lowly, Thou art my only refuge.
3. If devotion is directed to Thee, O Ramakrishna, the way of Divine Truth, then with desires all fulfilled in Thee, they forthwith cross over this sea of Rajas: for Thy feet are like nectar to the mortals, quelling the waves of death. Therefore, O Thou friend of the lowly, Thou art my only refuge.
4. O Thou dispeller of illusion, Thy name ending in "shna", pure and auspicious, converts sinfulness to purity. Because, O Thou the only goal of all beings, shelter have I none, therefore Thou art, O friend of the lowly, my only refuge.
A HYMN TO SHRI RAMAKRISHNA
( In Sanskrit)
1. He who was Shri Rama, whose stream of love flowed with resistless might even to the Chandâla (the outcaste); Oh, who ever was engaged in doing good to the world though superhuman by nature, whose renown there is none to equal in the three worlds, Sitâ's beloved, whose body of Knowledge Supreme was covered by devotion sweet in the form of Sita.
2. He who quelled the noise, terrible like that at the time of destruction, arising from the battle (of Kurukshetra), who destroyed the terrible yet natural night of ignorance (of Arjuna) and who roared out the Gita sweet and appeasing; That renowned soul is born now as Shri Ramakrishna.
3. Hail, O Lord of Men! Victory unto You! I surrender myself to my Guru, the physician for the malady of Samsâra (relative existence) who is, as it were, a wave rising in the ocean of Shakti (Power), who has shown various sports of Love Divine, and who is the weapon to destroy the demon of doubt.
Hail, O Lord of Men! Victory unto You!
4. Hail, O Lord of Men! Victory unto you! I surrender myself to my Guru the Man-God, the physician for the malady of this Samsara (relative existence), whose mind ever dwelt on the non-dualistic Truth, whose personality was covered by the cloth of Supreme Devotion, who was ever active (for the good of humanity) and whose actions were all superhuman.
Hail, O Lord of Men! Victory unto You!
NO ONE TO BLAME
(Written from New York, 16th May, 1895.)
The sun goes down, its crimson rays
Light up the dying day;
A startled glance I throw behind
And count my triumph shame;
No one but me to blame.
Each day my life I make or mar,
Each deed begets its kind,
Good good, bad bad, the tide once set
No one can stop or stem;
No one but me to blame.
I am my own embodied past;
Therein the plan was made;
The will, the thought, to that conform,
To that the outer frame;
No one but me to blame.
Love comes reflected back as love,
Hate breeds more fierce hate,
They mete their measures, lay on me
Through life and death their claim;
No one but me to blame.
I cast off fear and vain remorse,
I feel my Karma's sway
I face the ghosts my deeds have raised —
Joy, sorrow, censure, fame;
No one but me to blame.
Good, bad, love, hate, and pleasure, pain
Forever linked go,
I dream of pleasure without pain,
It never, never came;
No one but me to blame.
I give up hate, I give up love,
My thirst for life is gone;
Eternal death is what I want,
Nirvanam goes life's flame;
No one is left to blame.
One only man, one only God, one ever perfect soul,
One only sage who ever scorned the dark and dubious ways,
One only man who dared think and dared show the goal —
That death is curse, and so is life, and best when stops to be.
Om Nama Bhagavate Sambuddhâya
Om, I salute the Lord, the awakened.
