(Rendered from a Bengali poem composed by Swami Vivekananda)

Where darkness is interpreted as light, Where misery passes for happiness, Where disease is pretended to be health, Where the new-born’s cry but shows ’tis alive; Dost thou, O wise, expect happiness here? Where war and competition ceaseless run, Even the father turns against the son, Where “self”, “self”–this always the only note, Dost thou, O wise, seek for peace supreme here? A glaring mixture of heaven and hell, Who can fly from this Samsar of Maya? Fastened in the neck with Karma’s fetters, Say, where can the slave escape for safety? The paths of Yoga and of sense-enjoyment, The life of the householder and Sannyas, Devotion, worship, and earning riches, Vows, Tyaga, and austerities severe, I have seen through them all. What have I known? –Have known there’s not a jot of happiness, Life is only a cup of Tantalus; The nobler is your heart, know for certain, The more must be your share of misery. Thou large-hearted Lover unselfish, know, There’s no room in this sordid world for thee; Can a marble figure e’er brook the blow That an iron mass can afford to bear? Friendless, clad in rags, with no possession, Feeding from door to door on what chance would bring. The frame broken under Tapasya’s weight; What riches, ask thou, have I earned in life? Listen, friend, I will speak my heart to thee; I have found in my life this truth supreme– Buffeted by waves, in this whirl of life, There’s one ferry that takes across the sea. Formulas of worship, control of breath, Science, philosophy, systems varied, Relinquishment, possession, and the life, All these are but delusions of the mind– Love, Love–that’s the one thing, the sole treasure. Vol 4. Page 493


HOLD ON YET A WHILE, BRAVE HEART If the sun by the cloud is hidden a bit,
If the welkin shows but gloom, Still hold on yet a while, brave heart, The victory is sure to come.   No winter was but summer came behind, Each hollow crests the wave, They push each other in light and shade; Be steady then and brave.   The duties of life are sore indeed, And its pleasures fleeting, vain, The goal so shadowy seems and dim, Yet plod on through the dark, brave heart, With all thy might and main.   Not a work will be lost, no struggle vain, Though hopes be blighted, powers gone; Of thy loins shall come the heirs to all, Then hold on yet a while, brave soul, No good is e’er undone.   Though the good and the wise in life are few, Yet theirs are the reins to lead, The masses know but late the worth; Heed none and gently guide.   With thee are those who see afar, With thee is the Lord of might, All blessings pour on thee, great soul, To thee may all come right!

(CW Vol 4. Page 389)