Therewith into the golden bowl she poured The curds and milk, and on the hands of Buddh Dropped attar from a crystal flask-distilled Out of the hearts of roses; and he ate, Speaking no word, while the glad mother stood In reverence apart. But of that meal So wondrous was the virtue that our Lord Felt strength and life return as though the nights Of watching and the days of fast had passed In dream, as though the spirit with the flesh Shared that fine meat and plumed its wings anew, Like some delighted bird at sudden streams Weary with flight o'er endless wastes of sand, Which laves the desert dust from neck and crest-- And more Sujata worshipped, seeing our Lord Grow fairer and his countenance more bright: "Art thou indeed the God?" she lowly asked, "And hath my gift found favour?" But Buddh said, "What is it thou dost bring me?" "Holy one!" Answered Sujata, "from our droves I took Milk of a hundred mothers newly-calved, And with that milk I fed fifty white cows, And with their milk twenty-and-five, and then With theirs twelve more, and yet again with theirs The six noblest and best of all our herds, That yield I boiled with sandal and fine spice In silver lotas, adding rice, well grown From chosen seed, set in new-broken ground, So picked that every grain was like a pearl. This did I of true heart, because I vowed, Under thy tree, if I should bear a boy I would make offering for my joy, and now I have my son and all my life is bliss!" Softly our Lord drew down the crimson fold, And, laying on the little head those hands Which help the world, he said: "Long be thy bliss! And lightly fall on him the load of life! For thou hast holpen me who am no God, But one thy Brother; heretofore a Prince And now a wanderer, seeking night and day These six hard years that light which somewhere shines To lighten all men's darkness, if they knew! And I shall find the light; yea, now it dawned Glorious and helpful, when my weak flesh failed Which this pure food, fair Sister, hath restored, Drawn manifold through lives to quicken life As life itself passes by many births To happier heights and purging off of sins. Yet dost thou truly find it sweet enough Only to live? Can life and love suffice?"