THE INDIAN MOTHER Full fed with thoughts and knowledges sublime, And thundering oracles of the gods, that make Man’s mind the flower of action and of time, I was one day where beggars come to take Doles ere they die. An Indian mother there, Young, but so wretched that her staring eyes Shone like the winter wolf’s with ravening glare Of hunger, struck me. For to much surprise A three-year child well nourish’d at her breast, Wither’d with famine, still she fed and press’d— For she was dying. ‘I am too poor,’ she said, ‘To feed him otherwise’; and with a kiss Fell back and died. And the soul answeréd, ‘In spite of all the gods and prophets—this!’ Bangalore, 1890-3. * * * * * GANGES-BORNE The fingers which had stray’d Thro’ shining clusters of his children’s hair Now lifeless moved, and play’d With horrible tresses of the ripples there; His eyes, as if he pray’d, Were cast beneath long eyelids, wan and spare. Rock’d by the roaring flood, He seem’d to speak as in debate with doom, Uplooking, while the flood Bore him with thunder to the ocean foam. God’s face, a luminous cloud, Look’d thro’ the midnight, black, and horrible gloom. Bangalore, 1890-3. * * * * * INDIAN FEVERS In this, O Nature, yield I pray to me. I pace and pace, and think and think, and take The fever’d hands, and note down all I see, That some dim distant light may haply break. . . . . . . The painful faces ask, can we not cure? We answer, No, not yet; we seek the laws. O God, reveal thro’ all this thing obscure The unseen, small, but million-murdering cause. Bangalore, 1890-3. * * * * * THE STAR Far across the Loneland, far across the Sea, Far across the Sands, O silver shining Sister of the Silence, Sister of the Dew, Sister of the Twilight, lighten me. Ever art thou beaming. I, with eyes upcast, Gazing worn and weary from this Dark World, Ask of thee thy Wisdom, steadfast Eye of God, That I be as Thou art while I last. 1890-3. * * * * * PETITION Truth, whom I hold divine, Thy wings are strong to bear Thro’ day or desperate night; For, ever those eyes of thine, Fix’d upward full of prayer, Are seeking for the light. Guide me and bear. Descend Into the sulphurous void— Tho’ I so weak, thy wings Stronger than him who, pen’d In hell unmerited, buoy’d Poets past infernal springs.