This puppet ego the World-Mother made,
This little profiteer of Nature’s works,
Her trust in his life-tenancy betrayed,
Makes claim on claim, all debt to her he shirks.
Each movement of our life our ego fills;
Inwoven in each thread of being’s weft,
When most we vaunt our selflessness, it steals
A sordid part; no corner void is left.
One way lies free, our heart and soul to give,
Our body and mind to Thee and every cell,
And steeped in Thy world-infinity to live.
Then lost in light, shall fade the ignoble spell.
Nature, of her rebellion quit, shall be
A breath of the spirit’s vast serenity.
Notes on Text
26 September 1939, revised 29 September. Two handwritten manuscripts.
