The Secret Splendour

August 15 — Sri Aurobindo's Birthday

I thought of a thousand marvels to implore—

 Yet when I touched Thy mystery's heart, no more

The lust came crowding: not one plea I bear

 Unto Thy altar as my penury's sign,

But bring my whole poor self to make it Thine!

Now goldenest boon hangs like a mote of air:

Deep-sunk in worship, void of puny prayer,

So large a hush of indigence is mine,

 Nought save that ageless measureless charity—

Thy utter Self—can slake the abyss of me!

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