Unlike Sudata's self, Sudata's king Believed religion but a comely cloak To hide besetting sins from public view, And sought the master in his new retreat To talk religion and to act a part, And greetings ended, said in solemn wise: "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown; But my poor kingdom now is doubly blest In one whose teachings purify the soul And give the highest and the humblest rest, As all are cleansed who bathe in Rapti's stream." But Buddha saw through all this outer show His real purposes and inner life: The love of pleasure blighting high resolve, The love of money, root of every ill, That sends its poison fibers through the soul And saps its life and wastes its vital strength. "The Tathagata only shows the way To purity and rest," the master said. "There is a way to darkness out of light, There is a way to light from deepest gloom. They only gain the goal who keep the way. Harsh words and evil deeds to sorrow lead As sure as shadows on their substance wait. For as we sow, so also shall we reap. Boast not overmuch of kingly dignity. A king most needs a kind and loving heart To love his subjects as an only son, To aid--not injure, comfort--not oppress, Their help, protector, father, friend and guide. Such kings shall live beloved and die renowned, Whose works shall welcome them to heavenly rest." The king, convicted, heard his solemn words That like an arrow pierced his inmost life. To him religion ceased to be a show Of chants and incense, empty forms and creeds, But stood a living presence in his way To check his blind and headlong downward course, And lead him to the noble eightfold path, That day by day and step by step shall lead To purity and peace and heavenly rest. Kapilavastu's king, Suddhodana, His step grown feeble, snowy white his hair, By cares oppressed and sick with hope deferred, For eight long years had waited for his son. But sweet Yasodhara, in widow's weeds, Her love by sorrow only purified As fire refines the gold by dross debased, Though tender memories bring unbidden tears, Wasted no time in morbid, selfish grief, But sought in care for others her own cure. Both son and daughter to the aged king, She aids with counsels, soothes with tender care. Father and mother to her little son, She lavishes on him a double love. And oft on mercy's missions going forth, Shunning the pomp and show of royal state, Leading Rahula, prattling by her side, The people saw her pass with swelling hearts, As if an angel clothed in human form.