THOU hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest
again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through
it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to
utterance ineffable1
.
Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and
still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.
WHEN thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart would break with pride; and
I look to thy face, and tears come to my eyes.
All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet harmony ⎯ and my
adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its flight across the sea.
I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. I know that only as a singer I come before thy
presence.
I touch by the edge of the far spreading wing of my song thy feet which I could never
aspire to reach.
Drunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend who art my lord.
I KNOW not how thou singest, my master! I ever listen in silent amazement.
The light of thy music illumines the world. The life breath of thy music runs from sky to
sky. The holy stream of thy music breaks through all stony obstacles and rushes on.
1. Ineffable: too great or intense to be expressed in words; unutterable.
Gitanjali: Spiritual Poems of Rabindranath Tagore - An e-book presentation by The Spiritual Bee 16
My heart longs to join in thy song, but vainly struggles for a voice. I would speak, but
speech breaks not into song, and I cry out baffled. Ah, thou hast made my heart captive
in the endless meshes of thy music, my master!
