I pray for the sad souls that pray By Ganges, the flower-strewn river, Whose blue, gleaming waves wash away The gifts and the sins of the giver. As he dips himself thrice in the flood, And drinks of it, laves in it, splashes, Till his sins flow away like the mud Which scours the bowl that he washes. Through the dark palace gates of Gwalior Throng pilgrims, their souls heavy laden; Down, down the vast steps to the shore, Move the elders, slim youth, jeweled maiden. While naked bronze, pedestaled high, Some prone or awhirl make their prayer: Or wrapped in bright robes softly sigh As at the broad river they stare. Where all things are sacred save man And woman, the meek burden-bearer; Dream-weary and starved is life's span And the tied shroud is burned with the wearer. I pray that a life may appear, Like our own born of man and of woman, Revealing man's love for man here, A love most divine because human: To destroy the divisions of creed, To frame of all people one nation, To supply without grudging all need And give birth to the God in creation. I pray for the sad souls that pray To Ganges the thrice-sacred river, Which springs from the snows far away And will flow with forgiveness forever. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ITINERANT POET'S ROAD SONG by KAREN SWENSON THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB AT SAINT PRAXED'S CHURCH by ROBERT BROWNING THE RIVULET by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT DUSK ON ENGLISH BAY by EARL (EARLE) BIRNEY THE FIRST BUD O' THE YEAR by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN |