A pony with a ragged skin Falls beneath a load; Kwan-yin—Kwan-yin Runs down the road. A comforter ... a comforter ... A comforter shall come.... No pain too mean for her, No grief too dumb. Man’s deserts and man’s sin She shall not discover. Kwan-yin—Kwan-yin Is the world’s lover. Ah, thief of pain ... thou thief of pain ... Thou thief of pain, come in. Never a cry in vain, Kwan-yin—Kwan-yin.... First priest, chants: Is she then a warrior against sin? On what field does she plant her banner? Bears she a sword? Second and third priests: The world is very full of battle; The speared and plumed forests in their ranks besiege the mountains; The flooded fields like scimitars lie between the breasts of the mountains; The mists ride on bugling winds down the mountains; Shall not Kwan-yin bear a sword? Fourth priest: Kwan-yin is no warrior. Kwan-yin bears no sword. Even against sin Kwan-yin has no battle. This is her banner—a new day, a forgetting hour. Her hands are empty of weapons and outstretched to the world. Her feet are set on lotus flowers, The lotus flowers are set on a pale lake, And the lake is filled with the tears of the world. Kwan-yin is still; she is very still; she listens always. Kwan-yin lives remembering tears. At this point the smoke of the joss-sticks veils the face of Kwan-yin. A woman’s voice sings: Wherefore remember tears? Shall tears be dried by remembrance? This voice is apparently not heard by the priests and acolytes. Second and third priests: Ah, Kwan-yin, mother of love, Remember Those in pain, Those who are held fast in pain of their own or another’s seeking; Those for whom the world is too difficult And too beautiful to bear, All: Kwan-yin, remember, remember. Second and third priests: Those who are blind, who shall never read the writing upon the fierce rivers, Who shall never see the slow flowing of stars from mountain to mountain; Those who are deaf, whom music and the fellowship of words have forsaken. All: Kwan-yin, remember, remember. Second and third priests: Those whose love is buried and broken; All those under the sun who lack the thing that they love And under the moon cry out because of their lack. All: Kwan-yin, remember. First priest: Oh, thou taker away of pain, Thou taker away of tears. The smoke quivers across Kwan-yin’s face again and the same woman’s voice sings: Wherefore remember pain? Is there a road of escape out of the unending wilderness of pain? Can Kwan-yin find a way where there is no way? Still the voice is unheard by the worshippers. Fourth priest sings, and while he sings the acolyte beats the drum softly at quick irregular intervals: