Oh to walk my way with kindness,
And not betray my life to a cloud of suspicions_
How I wish that someone would believe me,
How I wish that I could believe someone.
To triumph in an unequal battle,
To embrace with love both small and big,
How I wish that someone would beIieve me,
How I wish that I could believe someone.
Let the silence burst forth with fury,
And the eternal noise die down for good .
. How I wish that someone would believe me,
How I wish that I could believe someone.
Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not. Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own. Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.
I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter; I forget that there abides the old in the new, and that there also thou abideth.
Through birth and death, in this world or in others, wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same, the one companion of my endless life who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.
When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut. Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose the bliss of the touch of the one in the play of the many.
In Hastinapura there was a washerman named Vilasa. His donkey was near death, having become weak from carrying excessive burdens. So the washerman covered him with a tiger-skin and turned him loose in a cornfield near a forest. The owners of the field, seeing him from a distance, fled away in haste, under the notion that he was a tiger. Then a certain corn guard, having covered his body with a gray blanket, and having made ready his bow and arrows, crouched down in a secluded spot. Then the donkey, having grown plump from eating, spied him at a distance, and supposing him to be a she-donkey, trotted up to him braying. The corn guard, discovering him to be only a donkey, killed him with ease.