"
Glanced the sharp knife one moment high,
The severed thumb was on the sod,
There was no tear in Buttoo's eye,
He left the matter with his God.
"For this"--said Dronacharjya--"Fame
Shall sound thy praise from sea to sea,
And men shall ever link thy name
With Self-help, Truth, and Modesty."
SINDHU
PART I
Deep in the forest shades there dwelt
A _Muni_ and his wife,
Blind, gray-haired, weak, they hourly felt
Their slender hold on life.
No friends had they, no help or stay,
Except an only boy,
A bright-eyed child, his laughter gay,
Their leaf-hut filled with joy.
Attentive, duteous, loving, kind,
Thoughtful, sedate, and calm,
He waited on his parents blind,
Whose days were like a psalm.
He roamed the woods for luscious fruits,
He brought them water pure,
He cooked their simple mess of roots,
Content to live obscure.
To fretful questions, answers mild
He meekly ever gave,
If they reproved, he only smiled,
He loved to be their slave.
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