The Silken Tassel/To India
To India
Eternal cradle of the muses fair!
Thou jewell’d throne of wisdom true, divine!
Whose pomp and wealth of many a holy shrine
Did Indra and his gods come down to share;
Thou jewell’d throne of wisdom true, divine!
Whose pomp and wealth of many a holy shrine
Did Indra and his gods come down to share;
Whose mighty heart has nursed with kindness rare
A score of nations whom it calls now "mine"
Whose freedom of the soul doth far outshine
Its blood-fed countertype of keen despair.
A score of nations whom it calls now "mine"
Whose freedom of the soul doth far outshine
Its blood-fed countertype of keen despair.
India! thy soil is still that cherish’d home!
Ten thousand years have gone, and still thou art!
No fetters can enchain thy Spirit clear
Ten thousand years have gone, and still thou art!
No fetters can enchain thy Spirit clear
And mighty Voice under this vast blue dome:
Truth on thy Tongue, and God within thy Heart,
Speak, Mother, speak! and all the world shall hear!
Truth on thy Tongue, and God within thy Heart,
Speak, Mother, speak! and all the world shall hear!