He is the covert teacher of my soul, The silent one observing from the wings Who acts as Prompter, gentle guide and goal; He is the melody my spirit sings.
He is the watcher o'er the crib of fate The unseen presence through the tender years, Until youth's arrogance shall dissipate, Retreats, but on occasion reappears
When ill tides rush upon the shifting sands And the little self is tossed upon the shore And in its naked desolation stands Forgetful of the crown that once it wore,
The Master whispers and the heart obeys Though it is weakened when our loved one's die, Yet deep within a sentient being prays And music joins the dawning of the sky.
To Sam Spanier at Matagiri "€œ On His 80th Birthday
Poems Undated (1727)
Home
Disciples
Narad
Share your feedback. Help us improve. Or ask a question.