O'ver hill and dale and mountain range, In temple, church, and mosque, In Vedas, Bible, Al Koran I had searched for Thee in vain.
Like a child in the wildest forest lost I have cried and cried alone, 'Where art Thou gone, my God, my love? The echo answered, 'gone.'
And days and nights and years then passed A fire was in the brain, I knew not when day changed in night The heart seemed rent in twain. I laid me down on Ganges's shore, Exposed to sun and rain; With burning tears I laid the dust And wailed with waters' roar.
I called on all the holy names Of every clime and creed. 'Show me the way, in mercy, ye Great ones who have reached the goal.'
Years then passed in bitter cry, Each moment seemed an age, Till one day midst my cries and groans Some one seemed calling me.
A gentle soft and soothing voice That said 'my son' 'my son', That seemed to thrill in unison With all the chords of my soul.
I stood on my feet and tried to find The place the voice came from; I searched and searched and turned to see Round me, before, behind, Again, again it seemed to speak The voice divine to me. In rapture all my soul was hushed, Entranced, enthralled in bliss.
