I am the servant of the servants of the servants of Buddha . Who was there ever like him? — the Lord — who never performed one action for himself — with a heart that embraced the whole world! So full of pity that he — prince and monk — would give his life to save a little goat! So loving tha
Sumitra Nandan Pant (1900-1976) ‘Bal Prashna’ (A child’s question). It was composed with the backdrop of Swamiji’s trip to Almora in 1897. This forms a part of the book ‘Veena.’ Here is a translation of the poem:
(He composed this ditty, sung to the tune of "Bye, Bye, Blackbird".)
[Sister Nivedita's notes of a New York Bhagavad-Gitâ class, recorded in a June 16, 1900 letter to Miss Josephine MacLeod]
[Frank Rhodehamel's notes of the Bhagavad-Gitâ lecture delivered Tuesday, May 29, 1900, in San Francisco, California]
[Frank Rhodehamel's notes of a Bhagavad-Gitâ lecture delivered Saturday, May 26, 1900, in San Francisco, California]
[Frank Rhodehamel's notes of a Bhagavad-Gitâ class delivered Thursday, May 24, 1900, in San Francisco, California]
[Frank Rhodehamel's notes of a class delivered in San Francisco, California, on Monday, March 26, 1900]
[Excerpts of Ida Ansell's first transcript of Swami Vivekananda's San Francisco lecture delivered Sunday, March 25, 1900]
[Frank Rhodehamel's notes of a lecture delivered in San Francisco, California, on March 11, 1900]
(Delivered on Sunday, February 25, 1900 in the Parliament of Religions at the Unitarian Church of Oakland, CA)
( Notes of a lecture delivered in London, on November 23, 1895 )
( Notes of a lecture delivered in London on November 16, 1895 )
(July 27, 1895, Oakland Island Beach Christian Unity at Fire Island, NY )
( Delivered at Opera House, Campus Martius, Detroit on March 11, 1894 and as reported in the Detroit Free Press)
“Found poetry” are poems which are “extracted” from or found in prose or utterances, not written by the author as poetry, which can nevertheless be read as poetry. My selections here, of course, are purely subjective and perhaps a little presumptuous. Yet Vi
Perchance a prophet thou- Who knows? Who dares touch The depths where Mother hides Her silent failless bolts!
Note regarding the Swami's death, July 4, 1902 and his 1898 poem 'To the Fourth of July'
The Swami in Srinagar planned to write an introductory letter for the forthcoming first number, under the new editorship of Swami Swarupananda, of the Prabuddha Bharata. One afternoon he brought to Sister Nivedita, Josephine MacLoed and Mrs Ole Bull as they sat together, a paper on whic
Hold yet a while, Strong Heart, Not part a lifelong yoke Though blighted looks the present, future gloom.
What though thy bed be frozen earth, Thy cloak the chilling blast; What though no mate to clear thy path, Thy sky with gloom o'ercast --
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?
If things go ill or well — If joy rebounding spreads the face, Or sea of sorrow swells — A play — we each have part, Each one to weep or laugh as may; Each one his dress to don — Its scenes, alternative shine and rain.
The wounded snake its hood unfurls, The flame stirred up doth blaze, The desert air resounds the calls Of heart-struck lion's rage.
And evermore protect us—Oh Thou Terrible!— From ignorance, by Thy sweet compassionate Face.
He who is in you and outside you, Who works through all hands, Who walks on all feet, Whose body are all ye, Him worship, and break all other idols!
Lo! The sun is not, nor the comely moon, All light extinct; in the great void of space Floats shadow-like the image-universe.
Existence was not then, nor non-existence, The world was not, the sky beyond was neither. What covered the mist? Of whom was that? What was in the depths of darkness thick?
One Mass, devoid of form, name, and colour, Timeless, devoid of time past and future, Spaceless, voiceless, boundless, devoid of all-- Where rests hushed even speech of negation.
(The Swami rendered this fragment of the Hindu sacrament on June 12, 1898)
This is your cup -- the cup assigned to you from the beginning. Nay, My child, I know how much of that dark drink is your own brew Of fault and passion, ages long ago, In the deep years of yesterday, I know.
Wake up the note! The song that had its birth Far off, where worldly taint could never reach; In mountain caves, and glades of forest deep, Whose calm no sigh for lust or wealth or fame Could ever dare to break; where rolled the stream Of knowledge, truth, and bliss that follows both. Sing hig
(The Swami rendered this song of Soor Das on June 12, 1898)
I am neither the mind, nor the intellect, nor the ego, nor the mind-stuff; I am neither the body, nor the changes of the body; I am neither the senses of hearing, taste, smell, or sight, Nor am I the ether, the earth, the fire, the air; I am Existence Absolute, Knowledge Absolute, Bliss Absolute--
One day in June 1898, shortly after Swami Vivekananda's disciple J. J. Goodwin died, the Swami carried off a few lines of Sister Nivedita's writing, and brought back this poem, which was sent to the widowed mother, as his memorial of her son.
O'ver hill and dale and mountain range, In temple, church, and mosque, In Vedas, Bible, Al Koran I had searched for Thee in vain.
Subsequent to a disagreement (by correspondence) between Swami Vivekananda and his friend, Mary Hale regarding the Swami's attitude toward his detractors (See letter to Mary Hale , February 1, 1895) the Swami mailed the following poem to her on February 15, 1895).
Composed at Ridgely Manor, New York, 1899. Dedicated to Mrs. Ole Bull "with eternal love."
Swamiji wrote the poem "One Circle More" on Ridgely Manor stationery. The original was sent to Swami Prabhavananda by Frances H. Leggett in 1962 It would appear that the three lines Swamiji wrote on the left-hand side of the sheet, which was actually the back of the folded letter paper consti
In blue sky floats a multitude of clouds -- White, black, of many shades and thicknesses; An orange sun, about to say farewell, Touches the massed cloud-shapes with streaks of red.
On one side grows the hair in long black curls, And on the other, corded like rope
The sun goes down, its crimson rays Light up the dying day; A startled glance I throw behind And count my triumph shame; No one but me to blame.
Ever rising, ever falling with the waves of time, still rolling on I go From fleeting scene to scene ephemeral, with life's currents' ebb and flow. Oh! I am sick of this unending force; these shows they please no more, This ever running, never reaching, nor e'en a distant glimpse of shore! Fro
The stars are blotted out, The clouds are covering clouds. It is darkness vibrant, sonant. In the roaring, whirling wind Are the souls of a million lunatics Just loosed from the prison-house, Wrenching trees by the roots, Sweeping all from the path. The sea has joined the fray, And swirled u
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.
The antiphonal Chorus of the Cowhherds, by his friend, Girish Chandra Ghosh, freely translated by Swami Vivekananda
He who was praised by the Brâhmanas, those knowers of the Vedas who made the sky reverberate with the sacred sounds of the sacrifice and caused the darkness of delusion to vanish through well-performed rituals and the knowledge known as Vedanta — he whose greatness was sung in the sweet chants o
(New Discoveries, Vol. 3. p. 490. This undated poem is preserved in the archives of the Vedanta Centre, Cohasset, Massachusetts. Cf. “My Play is Done”, Complete Works, VI.)
One bending low with load of life-- That meant no joy, but suffering harsh and hard-- And wending on his way through dark and dismal paths Without a flash of light from brain or heart To give a moment's cheer, till the line That marks out pain from pleasure, death from life, And good from what is ev
Beaut'ous blossoms ravishing with perfume, Swarms of maddened bees buzzing all around; The silver moon--a shower of sweet smile, Which all the dwellers of heaven above Shed lavishly upon the homes of earth; The soft Malaya breeze, whose magic touch Opens to view distant memory's folds; Murmuring riv
A song I sing. A song I sing to Thee! Nor care I for men's comments, good or bad. Censure or praise I hold of no account. Servant am I, true servant of Thee Both (Purusha and Prakriti together.), Low at Thy feet, with Shakti, I salute!
We salute Thee! Lord! Adored of the world, Samsara's bondage breaker, taintless Thou, Embodiment of blessed qualities, Thou transcendest all Gunas; human form Thus bearest. Thee we salute and adore!
Thou most beautiful! Whose holy hands Hold pleasure and hold pain! Doer of good! Who art Thou? The water of existence By Thee is whirled and tossed in mighty waves. Is it, O Mother, to restore again This universe's broken harmony That Thou, without cessation, art at work?
Salutation to Shiva! whose glory Is immeasurable, who resembles sky In clearness, to whom are attributed The phenomena of all creation, The preservation and dissolution Of the universe! May the devotion, The burning devotion of this my life Attach itself to Him, to Shiva, who, While being Lord of al
1. He who was Shri Rama, whose stream of love flowed with resistless might even to the Chandâla (the outcaste); Oh, who ever was engaged in doing good to the world though superhuman by nature, whose renown there is none to equal in the three worlds, Sitâ's beloved, whose body of Knowledge Suprem
1. Om! Hrim! Thou art the True, the Imperturbable One, transcending the three Gunas and yet adored for Thy virtues! Inasmuch as I do not worship day and night, with yearning, Thy compassionate lotus feet which destroy all ignorance, therefore, O Thou friend of the lowly, Thou art my only refuge
( Letter to Miss. Alberta Sturges on her 23rd birthday, September 22, 1900)
This is Swami Vivekananda’s free translation of verses from Bhartrihari’s Sanskrit poem Vairâgya Shatakam.
