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The day of pleasure's past and gone,
Long through this world we've wandered on,
And weary reached the brink:
By Gangâ's stream shrills forth our cry,
"O Siva, Siva, Lord most high,
Help, Siva, or we sink."


When honour fades, and wealth departs, and boons are craved in vain,
And friends are dead, and servants fled, and joy exchanged for pain,
This course alone becomes the wise--to seek those mountain caves
Whence softly flow through woods below the sanctifying waves.


Why suffer endless woes in vain
The favour of the great to gain?
Let false ambition's longings cease,
Learn to possess thy soul in peace,
And thou hast won the wishing-cap
That pours earth's treasures in thy lap.