{"collection":"Hinduism","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/hin/htss/htss06.htm","path":"hin/htss/htss06.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/hin/htss/htss06.htm","text":"Hymns of the Tamil Saivite Saints, by F. Kingsbury and G.P. Phillips, [1921]\n \n p. 84\n \n \n \n \nClick to enlarge\nM\u0100\u1e46IKKA V\u0100SAHAR\n \n p. 85\n MANIKKA V\u0100SAHAR AND HIS HYMNS\n \n p. 86\n IV.\n M\u0100\u1e46IKKA V\u0100SAHAR\n \n (Sanskrit form M\u0100\u1e46IKYA V\u0100CHAKA)\n \n In the days when the powerful P\u0101ndyan Kings flourished in Madura, there was once a prime minister who early became convinced of the transitoriness of this world's life and its riches. When on a visit to Perundurai, now \u0100vudaiy\u0101rkoil in the Tanjore District, he suddenly and completely came under the influence of a Brahman religious teacher, who for him was the manifestation of the very God Himself. Then and there he began to sing the \"Sacred Utterance\" (Tiruv\u0101saham), and was named by his preceptor \"Utterer of Jewels\" (M\u0101\u1e47ikka V\u0101sahar). Returning to Madura, he forsook his high office with all its rewards, to become a religious poet wandering without earthly attachments from shrine to shrine. The stories clustering around his religious experience can be read by English readers in Dr. Pope's great edition of his work. We find him practising austerities at Chidambaram, or miraculously giving the gift of speech to the dumb daughter of the Ch\u014dl\u0324a king, or defeating in disputation a band of Buddhists from Ceylon, but of certain historical information about him we have practically none. Even the question of the century in which he lived is a battleground of the antiquarians. Tradition places him in the fifth century, earlier than the writers of the D\u0113v\u0101ram;\n \n p. 87\n \n but the opinion of scholars seems to be converging on the view that he lived in the latter half of the ninth, or the first half of the tenth century of our era. Another of his works is the Tirukk\u014dvaiy\u0101r, an erotic poem of four hundred stanzas. Among Tamil \u015aaivite writers none makes a stronger devotional appeal than M\u0101\u1e47ikka V\u0101sahar. There is a common Tamil saying that nothing can melt the heart of the man who is not melted by the Tiruv\u0101saham.\n \n p. 88 p. 89\n \n Stanzas 80-92 are samples from an opening poem of one hundred stanzas, each ten of which has its own metre and is fairly complete in itself. They fairly reflect the saint's varying moods. Notice the importance he attaches to emotion; his worst self-reproach is for feeling no frenzy. As to his conception of God, see how the word 'grace' recurs in nearly every stanza. And yet that God of grace is called (in No. 84) both being and non-existence.\n The Hundred Verses\n \n 80. Thrills and trembles my frame;\n Hands are lifted on high;\n Here at Thy fragrant feet,\n Sobbing and weeping I cry;\n Falsehood forsaking, I shout,\n \"Victory, victory, praise!\n Lord of my life, these clasped hands\n Worship shall bring Thee always.\n \n 81. Indra or Vish\u1e47u or Brahm,\n Their divine bliss crave not I;\n I seek the love of Thy saints,\n Though my house perish thereby.\n To the worst hell I will go,\n So but Thy grace be with me.\n Best of all, how could my heart\n Think of a god beside Thee?\n \n 82. Though like Thy saints I seem, \u2019tis but the acting of a part.\n Yet wondrous swift I run to reach the heaven where Thou art.\n O hill of gold and precious gems, grant in Thy grace to me\n A heart to melt, lord of my life, in ceaseless love to Thee.\n \n p. 90 p. 91\n \n 83. I have no fear of births, but quake at thought that I must die.\n E\u2019en heav\u2019n to me were naught; for earth's whole empire what care I?\n O \u015aiva wreathed with honeyed blossoms, \"When shall come the morn\n When Thou wilt grant Thy grace to me?\" I cry with anguish torn.\n \n 84. The sky, earth, wind, the light, our very flesh and life art Thou,\n Being art Thou, non-being too, Thou king, who see\u2019st how\n Men dance like puppets with their foolish thoughts of 'I' and 'Mine,'\n While Thou the cords dost pull. What words can tell Thy praise divine?\n \n 85. At sound of cries like this, \"O Bull-rider whose spreading hair\n The falling stream receives! \"Heaven's Lord,\" true devotees there were,\n Whose love-thrilled heart broke forth, like stopped-up rivers rushing down.\n Yet Thou didst choose no one of them, but me to be Thine own.\n And yet my body will not turn from heel to head one heart\n To melt in love for Thee, one eye to shed the tears that smart\n In swelling floods. Ah! wretched that I am, who only moan!\n My two eyes are unfeeling wood, my heart a great dead stone!\n \n p. 92 p. 93\n \n 86. Amid the fruits of deeds I lay. Thou didst thyself reveal\n With words of comfort saying \"Come, I will destruction deal\n To evil fruit of deeds,\" and thus thou mad\u2019st me all Thy slave.\n And yet I stand as if a statue made of steel, nor rave,\n Nor sing, nor cry, nor wail\u2014woe's me\u2014nor in my spirit faint\n With deep desire, so dull am I. O being ancient,\n Thou art beginning, Thou art end: tell me, how can I be\n So dead at heart? The end if this I do not dare to see.\n \n \n \n 87. Him though men seek, none fully know; in Him no evil is.\n None are His kindred; knowledge perfect, effortless is His.\n A cur am I, yet He hath giv\u2019n to me in sight of men\n A place on earth, and shewed me things far beyond mortal ken.\n He told me what no ears can hear; from future births He sav\u2019d.\n Such magic wrought my Lord who me hath lovingly enslaved.\n \n 88. Our God of gods, whom e\u2019en the devas\u2019 king knows but in part,\n Ruleth the three who in the fair world-gardens life impart,\n And life maintain, and life destroy; our First, Reality,\n Father of old, whose consort Um\u0101 is, our sovereign, He \np. 94 p. 95\n Came down in grace and made e\u2019en me to be His very own.\n Henceforth before no man I bow; I fear but Him alone.\n Now of His servants\u2019 servants I have joined the sacred throng,\n And ever more and more I'll bathe in bliss. with dance and song.\n89. The meanest cur am I; I know not how to do the right;\n \u2019Twere but what I deserve, should\u2019st Thou my wickedness requite\n With the dread fate of those who never saw Thy flowery feet;\n For though mine eyes have seen, my ears have heard saints guileless, meet,\n Who reached Thy fragrant presence, yet I stay, for false am I,\n Fit for naught save to eat and dress, Lion of victory.\n \n \n \n 90. None but myself has sunk myself. Thy name be ever praised!\n No blame lay I on Thee, lauds to my Master be upraised!\n Yet to forgive is aye a mark of greatness. Praise to Thee!\n Lord of the land celestial, Praise! O end this life for me.\n \n p. 96 p. 97\n \n 91. The fawn-eyed maid is part of Thee! From holy writ Thou\u2019rt hid!\n Thou\u2019rt honey, yea ambrosia, by man's mind not compass\u00e8d.\n O king who bearest with my faults, some harsh words did I say.\n Thy saints have entered heaven. Without, falsehood and I still stay.\n \n 92. Since I am false, and false my heart, and false my very love,\n Howe\u2019er I weep, still held by deed can I reach Thee above?\n O honey, nectar, O essential sweetness, great as sweet,\n Grant grace to me to find the path that leads unto Thy feet.\n \n 93. Heav\u2019n, earth, and all that therein is, thou makest without seed.\n Thou dost preserve and Thou destroy. \u2019Tis Thou who hast decreed\n That I though treacherous, mean, should be a man who frenzied faints\n Before Thy temple gates, one with the band of Thy true saints.\n What men themselves have planted, e\u2019en a poisonous mango tree,\n They root not up. O Lord of mine, as such a tree keep me.\n \n \n \n Our next five stanzas, taken from a hymn of fifty, are full of the pathos expressed in the title, which is a refrain recurring in every verse. Only flashes of the light of the presence of God pierce the prevailing gloom. The saint cannot free himself from sensuality,\n \n p. 98 p. 99\n \n even while he hates it. He wonders whether even the God who drank poison for others\u2019 sake will leave him alone.\n Wilt Thou Leave Me?\n \n 94. Mingling in grace with me, O rider of the bull, Thou mad\u2019st me Thine.\n \u00a0\u00a0But wilt Thou leave me? Thou whose form in the fierce tiger's skin is clad,\n Uttarak\u014dsama\u1e45gai old has Thee for king. O lord of mine\n \u00a0\u00a0With matted hair, hold Thou me up; for I am weary grown and sad.\n \n 95. Set in the marge of flowing stream that eats its banks away, the tree\n \u00a0\u00a0Shakes to its fall; and thus am I, my sense bewitch\u2019d by maids\u2019 dark eyes.\n Uttarak\u014dsama\u1e45gai's king, spouse of gem-vested P\u0101rvati,\n \u00a0\u00a0Who dwell'st in \u0100r\u016br holy, O protector, for my help arise.\n \n 96. In ignorance I spurned thy grace. Dost Thou, my gem, now me despise,\n \u00a0\u00a0And wilt thou leave me? O destroy my sum of deeds and make me thine.\n Uttarak\u014dsama\u1e45gai's king, \u2019tis surely true, the great and wise,\n \u00a0\u00a0When only little curs play false, to mercy ever will incline.\n \n p. 100 p. 101\n \n 97. With none to cheer me from my fear, far have I wandered wearily,\n \u00a0\u00a0O Lightning-like, and wilt Thou leave me? If I truly thee compare,\n Uttarak\u014dsama\u1e45gai's king, I find naught else resembling Thee;\n \u00a0\u00a0But a true father, mother dear art Thou to me, my treasure rare.\n \n 98. Whether I praise or curse Thee, still I'm stained with sin and sorrowing.\n \u00a0\u00a0Yet, wilt Thou leave me? Splendour shining like the red-hued coral mount,\n Master, thou drankest poison black, the humbler beings pitying,\n \u00a0\u00a0That I, Thy meanest one, might find no poison, but a nectar fount.\n \n \n \n Our poet made songs which maidens might sing in their rhythmical games, or as they sat at the grinding-stone. In India the boatman sings as he rows, the ryot sings as he draws from the well, the sepoy sings on his march. A feature of such songs is the refrain, which is usually a mere collection of euphonic syllables, though it may have a meaning. Here are specimens of a few songs intended for women. The refrain of the first, \"\u0112l\u014dremb\u0101v\u0101y\" probably means \"Receive and ponder what I say, O lady.\" The Grinding song, strangely enough, is used at funerals, as also is the 'Antiphony.' The song of 'The Three Castles\u2019 Destruction' is supposed to accompany play with a ball or a kind of shuttle called 'und\u012b.' For the legend of the Three Castles, see page 7. 'The Shoulder-Play' is for some ancient game in which women grasped each other's shoulders.\n \n p. 102 p. 103\n Song of the Maidens\n \n 99. Older are Thou than the oldest of all,\n Newest of all that is new.\n At Thy saints\u2019 feet we in service will fall,\n We are Thy handmaidens true.\n None but Thy bondsmen shall call us their own;\n Lord, we would none others wed;\n We would be slaves at their bidding alone:\n So be our bliss perfected.\n \u0112l\u014dremb\u0101v\u0101y.\n \n 100. \"Sure for Thy child there is refuge with Thee,\"\n Trembling we take up the cry.\n Hear, O our Lord, while we bring Thee one plea,\n Grant but one boon for our joy.\n May only Thy lovers rest on our breast,\n Let our hands\u2019 labour be theirs.\n Only on such our eyes night and day rest,\n Then sun rise west, east, who cares?\n \u0112l\u014dremb\u0101v\u0101y.\n The Grinding Song\n \n 101. Grind we the powder gold, that He may bathe;\n For He is Scripture, He is sacrifice;\n He's being's truth, and being's falsehood too;\n Light is He, yea, and He is darkness deep;\n He is deep sorrow, and true bliss is He;\n He is the half, and He again the whole;\n Bondage is He, but He is true release;\n He is the alpha, He the omega.\n \n p. 104 p. 105\n \u015aiva's Mysteries (An Antiphony)\n \n 102. \"His form is smeared with ashes white; the snake His strange adornment is;\n The secret scriptures utters He: what kind of god, my friend, is this?\n \"Why talk of ash-smear, holy speech, adornment strange? This only know,\n This god, of every living thing is the true nature. Ch\u0101\u1e37al\u014d.\"\n \n 103. \"My father and my master, He of all men Lord supreme, is clad\n With but a hanging loin-cloth stitched; pray tell me, friend, is He not mad?\n \"The Vedas four with meaning fraught, the everlasting \u015a\u0101stras, know\n That these are but the threads whereof is wove His loin-cloth. Ch\u0101\u1e37al\u014d.\"\n \n 104. The burning-ground's His temple fine; the tiger's skin His raiment is;\n Father or mother hath He none; He's all alone; my friend, see this.''\n \"Though He no parents hath, no kin, yet should His anger kindle, lo,\n The whole wide world would straightway turn to dust and ashes. Ch\u0101\u1e37al\u014d.\"\n \n 105. \"Though I am but a cur, yet when I turned to Him who hath no end,\n Into a sea of bliss He made me sink o\u2019erwhelmed; see this, my friend.\"\n \"Those holy feet that sank thee in the sea of bliss o\u2019erwhelm\u00e8d, know,\n E\u2019en to the very gods in heav\u2019n they're richest treasure. Ch\u0101\u1e37al\u014d.\"\n \n p. 106 p. 107\n The Three Castles\u2019 Destruction\n \n 106. Bent was the bow, begun the fight,\n The castles three were \u2019whelm\u00e8d quite, (Fly, und\u012b)\n Three castles blazing with one light. (Fly, und\u012b)\n \n 107. One bolt in \u015aiva's hand saw we,\n One single bolt for castles three, (Fly, und\u012b)\n And e\u2019en that one scarce needed He. (Fly, und\u012b)\n \n 108. Cleft lay the car at His foot's tread,\n The axle was all shatter\u00e8d, (Fly, und\u012b)\n Three castles ruined lay and dead. (Fly, und\u012b)\n The Shoulder-Play\n \n 109. Poor slave was I, how long I poured out all my days for naught,\n \u00a0\u00a0To Him the all-supreme no homage rendering! Yet see,\n How He, the jewel from eternal ages incorrupt,\n \u00a0\u00a0Has come and drawn the prison-bolt of births, and set me free.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Play we T\u014d\u1e47\u014dkkam\n \n \n \n In the poetry of all lands lovers have appealed to birds to be their messengers to the distant loved one. This is so common in Indian poetry as to have become a recognised convention. Here the saint sends his message of love and devotion, in one case by a humming bee, in the other by the Indian cuckoo, to \u015aiva who dwells in Tillai, i.e. Chidambaram.\n \n p. 108 p. 109\n The Bee's Message\n \n 110. Hard-hearted thief, stiff-necked was I, but no such name He called me;\n My stony heart He melted, and by mercy He enthralled me.\n The swans abound in Tillai's lovely hall of gold, His dwelling.\n Fly, king of bees, at His gold anklets hum, my message telling.\n \n 111. Cur though I am, my lord has set me His great glory singing;\n To me, the mad, His patient grace is aye forgiveness bringing;\n Scorning me not, He deigns to take the service I can do Him.\n Mother and God. Go, king of bees, hum thou my message to Him.\n \n 112. Far would my heart and mind have gone from Him, but He compelled me,\n The lord with tangled locks, and His fair spouse, they saved and held me.\n He is the sky, the mighty sea, east, west, north, south, indwelling.\n His feet with honey drop. There, king of bees, my praise be telling.\n \n 113. In this world's treasure false immersed lay I, and self-deceiv\u00e8d,\n Held it for treasure true, but for His own He me receiv\u00e8d.\n My precious life itself is He, in Tillai's hall abiding.\n Go, king of bees, at His red lotus feet my words confiding.\n \n p. 110 p. 111\n The Cuckoo's Errand\n \n 114. Hear, little cuckoo in the honey\u2019d orchard groves.\n Heav\u2019n did He spurn; to save us men, to earth He calve,\n Boundless in giving, reeking naught of flesh of mine,\n Entered my mind, and there my very thought became.\n He, the alone, the spouse of her whose pure eye's ray\n Shames the gazelle in softness, call Him hither, pray.\n \n \n \n One of the little childishnesses involved in idolatry is that every morning with solemn ceremony the idol must be wakened from his sleep, bathed, and dressed. Here is a song with which he is roused from slumber. But notice how successfully our author has filled his poem with the fresh morning feeling, and the sights and sounds of the sudden break of the Indian dawn.\n The Idol's Awakening\n \n 115. Hail to Thee, treasure rare,\n \u00a0\u00a0Source of all prosperity,\n Dawn has come, at Thy feet,\n \u00a0\u00a0Flowers themselves, fair flowers lay we.\n Praising Thee, we await\n \u00a0\u00a0Smiles that blossom fair and sweet\n In Thy face, as we fall\n \u00a0\u00a0Prone adoring at Thy feet.\n \n \u015aiva, Lord, dweller in\n \u00a0\u00a0Perundu\u1e5bai, where expand\n Lotus flowers, petalled white,\n \u00a0\u00a0In the cool moist pasture land,\n Thou whose flag is the bull,\n \u00a0\u00a0Thou the Lord of all my ways,\n Now O Lord of us all,\n \u00a0\u00a0From Thy couch rise in Thy grace.\n \n p. 112 p. 113\n \n 116. Now anigh Indra's East\n \u00a0\u00a0Draws the sun; dark flies apace\n At the dawn; and the sun\n \u00a0\u00a0Of the kindness in Thy face \n Riseth high\u2019r, ever high\u2019r,\n \u00a0\u00a0As like fair flowers opening,\n Eyes unclose from their sleep,\n \u00a0\u00a0Eyes of Thee our beauteous king.\n \n Hear how now clouds of bees\n \u00a0\u00a0Humming bright fill all the air.\n \u015aiva, Lord, dweller in\n \u00a0\u00a0Holy Perundu\u1e5bai fair,\n Thou wilt come to bestow\n \u00a0\u00a0Favours rich, Oh shew Thy face!\n Mountain-joy, ocean-bliss,\n \u00a0\u00a0From Thy couch rise in Thy grace.\n \n 117. Cocks now crow to the morn,\n \u00a0\u00a0While the cuckoos loudly call;\n Little birds sweetly sing,\n \u00a0\u00a0And the conch-shell sounds o\u2019er all;\n Light of stars fades away\n \u00a0\u00a0Into common light of day;\n Dawn and sun come as one,\n \u00a0\u00a0Now to us, O God, display \n \nIn Thy love Thy twin feet,\n \u00a0\u00a0Gracious, decked with anklets rare.\n \u015aiva, Lord, dweller in Holy Perundu\u1e5bai fair,\n \u00a0\u00a0Hard for all men to find,\n Yet to me Thou shewedst Thy face.\n \u00a0\u00a0Now O Lord of us all,\n From Thy couch rise in Thy grace.\np. 114 p. 115\n \n 118. On this side some men play\n \u00a0\u00a0Lutes and v\u012b\u1e47as sweet of sound;\n On that side some men chant\n \u00a0\u00a0Ancient \u1e5aik, their songs resound;\n In their hands some have brought\n \u00a0\u00a0Wreaths of many blossoms wove;\n Some bow down, some men weep,\n \u00a0\u00a0Some men sway, o\u2019ercome by love; \n \nClasping hands o\u2019er their heads,\n \u00a0\u00a0Others stand with reverent air;\n \u015aiva, Lord, dweller in\n \u00a0\u00a0Holy Perundu\u1e5bai fair,\n Even me didst thou save;\n \u00a0\u00a0Sweet to me have been Thy ways.\n Now, O Lord of us all,\n \u00a0\u00a0From Thy couch rise in Thy grace.\n \n The rest of our specimens of the 'Holy Utterances' may be left to explain themselves without comment, save for a single line of title. Where two or more stanzas are given from a poem, the title here given is a translation from the Tamil.\n Only with Thee and Thy Saints!\n \n 119. Our lady aye is in Thy heart,\n \u00a0\u00a0As Thou in hers; and if ye both\n In mine do dwell, grant me a part\n \u00a0\u00a0Among your slaves, O ever First.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Unending lord, in Tillai's hall who dost abide,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Let this deep yearning of my soul be satisfied.\n \n p. 116 p. 117\n What Can I Give Thee?\n \n 120. Thou gav\u2019st Thyself, Thou gained\u2019st me;\n \u00a0\u00a0Which did the better bargain drive?\n Bliss found I in infinity;\n \u00a0\u00a0But what didst Thou from me derive?\n O \u015aiva,. Perundu\u1e5bai's God,\n \u00a0\u00a0My mind Thou tookest for Thy shrine:\n My very body's Thine abode:\n \u00a0\u00a0What can I give Thee, Lord, of mine?\n \n \n Passion's Pain\n \n 121. Caught am I in passion's snare from women's liquid eyes;\n \u00a0\u00a0Stabbed at heart, a cur. O wisdom's light, no aid I see.\n Only lord, whose lady's feet are softer than the down,\n \u00a0\u00a0How I long to hear Thy coral lips speak cheer to me.\n Longings For Death\n \n 122. Our lord supreme, both earth and heav\u2019n indwelling,\n \u00a0\u00a0See how I have no other help but Thee.\n Thou king of \u015aiva's world, bright beyond telling,\n \u00a0\u00a0Dweller in Perundu\u1e5bai, look on me.\n Who'll hear my cry, who list to my complaining,\n \u00a0\u00a0If Thou Thy grace deny, who saved\u2019st me?\n I find in sea-girt earth no joy remaining.\n \u00a0\u00a0Now let Thy grace speak, bid me come to Thee.\n \n p. 118 p. 119\n \n 123. In Thee she dwells whose feet than down are softer;\n \u00a0\u00a0See how I have no other help but Thee.\n Thou king of \u015aiva's world, my gracious master,\n \u00a0\u00a0Dweller in Perundu\u1e5bai, look on me.\n Fear holds me; for, in dark confusion godless,\n \u00a0\u00a0I did forget the grace that sav\u00e8d me.\n Dog and deceitful am I. Life is joyless.\n \u00a0\u00a0Now let Thy grace speak, bid me come to Thee.\n \n 124. In Thee she dwells whose ancient praise is faultless;\n \u00a0\u00a0See how I have no other help but Thee.\n Thou king of S`iva's world, the bright moon wearing,\n \u00a0\u00a0Dweller in Perundu\u1e5bai, look on me.\n Whom save Thee could I worship with my praises?\n \u00a0\u00a0Can any other refuge give for me?\n O Rider of the bull, my life is joyless.\n \u00a0\u00a0Now let Thy grace speak, bid me come to Thee.\n The Balancing of Deeds\n \n 125. O lord of Perundu\u1e5bai, place of peace,\n \u00a0\u00a0To them who call Thy name, beyond compare\n True joy art Thou. Thou mad'st my woe to cease\n \u00a0\u00a0When good and ill deeds done were balanced fair.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then lest unwith\u2019ring seeds of birth should grow,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In Kal\u0324ukun\u1e0du Thy fair self didst shew.\n \n p. 120 p. 121\n Life's Consuming\n \n 126. Myself I cannot understand, nor what is day nor night;\n He who both word and thought transcends has reft my senses quite,\n He who for bull has Vish\u1e47u, and in Perundu\u1e5bai dwells,\n O Light supreme, in Br\u0101hman guise has cast on me strange spells.\n \n 127. I ask not fame, wealth, earth or heav\u2019n. No birth, no death for me.\n None will I touch who love not \u015aiva. Now \u2019tis mine to see\n Abiding Perundu\u1e5bai, wear the King's foot as my crown;\n Never will I leave this His shrine, nor let Him leave His own.\n \n 128. Art Thou like honey on the branch too high for me to climb?\n Or art Thou nectar ocean-churned? O Hara, King sublime,\n In Perundu\u1e5bai, circled with moist fields, I can set Thee\n With form ash-smeared, the spotless. Can I bear my ecstasy?\n \n 129. Many in this great earth who live do penance; I alone\n Bearing this frame of flesh, a barren jungle-tree have grown.\n Dweller in Perundu\u1e5bai old where blooms the kondai tree,\n May I the sinner cry \"Wilt Thou not grant Thyself to me\"?\n \n p. 122 p. 123\n Pious Fear\n \n 130. I fear not serpents lurking smooth;\n I fear no liars\u2019 feign\u00e8d truth;\n But when I see fools venturing\n E\u2019en to the foot of Him our king,\n Our three-eyed Lord with matted hair,\n Of His great godhead unaware,\n Fools thinking other gods can be,\n Terror such sight inspires in me.\n \n 131. I fear no javelin's gory blade;\n Nor sidelong glance of bangled maid;\n But when I see men void of grace\n Drinking no sweetness from the praise\n Of my unchiselled Gem, whose dance\n In Tillai's hail is seen, whose glance\n Melts men's whole frame in ecstasy\n Terror such sight inspires in me.\n I Cling to Thee\n \n 132. King of the heavenly ones! All-filling Excellence!\n E\u2019en to vile me Thou Thy wonders hast shown;\n Balm of true bliss, ending false earthly bliss of sense,\n Thou my whole household did\u2019st take for Thine own.\n Meaning of holy writ! Wondrous Thy glory!\n True wealth, our \u015aiva, to Thee, Lord, I cling.\n Never to loose my hold, firmly I cling to Thee;\n Where canst Thou go, leaving me sorrowing?\n \n p. 124 p. 125\n \n 133. King of celestial ones, ever with bull for steed,\n Evil am I, yet my riches art Thou;\n Lest I should rot in my foul flesh, and die indeed,\n Thou hast preserved me, and Thine am I now.\n Thou art our God; Thou of grace art a boundless sea,\n Saved from my flesh, now to Thee, Lord, I cling.\n Never to let Thee loose, firmly I cling to Thee;\n Where can\u2019st Thou go, leaving me sorrowing?\n \n 134. Thou dids\u2019t come into my vile fleshly body,\n E\u2019en as \u2019twere into some great golden shrine;\n Soft\u2019ning and melting it all, Thou hast sav\u00e8d me,\n Lord condescending, Thou gem all divine!\n Sorrow and birth, death, all ties that deceiv\u00e8d me,\n Thou did\u2019st remove, all my bonds severing;\n True bliss, our kindly Light, firmly I cling to Thee;\n Where canst Thou go leaving me sorrowing?\n NAUGHT BUT THY LOVE\n \n 135. I ask not kin, nor name, nor place,\n \u00a0\u00a0Nor learn\u00e8d men's society.\n Men's lore for me no value has;\n \u00a0\u00a0Kutt\u0101lam's lord, I come to Thee.\n Wilt thou one boon on me bestow,\n \u00a0\u00a0A heart to melt in longing sweet,\n As yearns o\u2019er new-horn calf the cow,\n \u00a0\u00a0In yearning for Thy sacred feet?\n \n p. 126 p. 127\n Longing for Union\n \n 136. I had no virtue, penance, knowledge, self-control. A doll to turn\n \u00a0\u00a0At others\u2019 will I danced, whirled, fell. But me He filled in every limb\n With love's mad longing, and that I might climb there whence is no return,\n \u00a0\u00a0He shewed His beauty, made me His. Ah me, when shall I go to Him?\n The Wonder of Grace\n \n 137. Fool's friend was I, none such may know\n \u00a0\u00a0The way of freedom; yet to me\n He shew\u2019d the path of love, that so\n \u00a0\u00a0Fruit of past deeds might ended be.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Cleansing my mind so foul, He made me like a god.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ah who could win that which the Father hath bestowed?\n \n 138. Thinking it right, sin's path I trod;\n \u00a0\u00a0But, so that I such paths might leave,\n And find His grace, the dancing God,\n \u00a0\u00a0Who far beyond our thought doth live,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O wonder passing great!\u2014to me His dancing shewed.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ah who could win that which the Father hath bestowed?","title":"Hymns of the Tamil Saivite Saints: Manikka V\u0101sahar and his Hymns","type":"page"}