A year has passed, and of this growing band Sixty are rooted, grounded in the faith, Willing to do whate'er the master bids, Ready to go where'er the master sends, Eager to join returning pilgrim-bands And bear the truth to India's farthest bounds. With joy the master saw their burning zeal, So free from selfishness, so full of love, And thought of all those blindly groping souls To whom these messengers would bear the light. "Go," said the master, "each a different way. Go teach the common brotherhood of man. Preach Dharma, preach the law of perfect love, One law for high and low, for rich and poor. Teach all to shun the cudgel and the sword, And treat with kindness every living thing. Teach them to shun all theft and craft and greed, All bitter thoughts, and false and slanderous speech That severs friends and stirs up strife and hate. Revere your own, revile no brother's faith. The light you see is from Nirvana's Sun, Whose rising splendors promise perfect day. The feeble rays that light your brother's path Are from the selfsame Sun, by falsehoods hid, The lingering shadows of the passing night. Chide none with ignorance, but teach the truth Gently, as mothers guide their infants' steps, Lest your rude manners drive them from the way That leads to purity and peace and rest-- As some rude swain in some sequestered vale, Who thinks the visual line that girts him round The world's extreme, would meet with sturdy blows One rudely charging him with ignorance, Yet gently led to some commanding height, Whence he could see the Himalayan peaks, The rolling hills and India's spreading plains, With joyful wonder views the glorious scene. Pause not to break the idols of the past. Be guides and leaders, not iconoclasts. Their broken idols shock their worshipers, But led to light they soon forgotten lie."