It is long since the Boatman sailed. It will be long before the
day breaks and he knocks at the door.
The drums will not be beaten and none will know.
Only light shall fill the house, blessed shall be the dust, and
the heart glad.
All doubts shall vanish in silence when the Boatman comes to the
shore.
XLII
I cling to this living raft, my body, in the narrow stream of my
earthly years.
I leave it when the crossing is over. And then?
I do not know if the light there and the darkness are the same.
The Unknown is the perpetual freedom:
He is pitiless in his love.
He crushes the shell for the pearl, dumb in the prison of the
dark.
You muse and weep for the days that are done, poor heart!
Be glad that days are to come!
The hour strikes, O pilgrim!
It is time for you to take the parting of the ways!
His face will be unveiled once again and you shall meet.
XLIII
Over the relic of Lord Buddha King Bimbis?r built a shrine, a
salutation in white marble.
There in the evening would come all the brides and daughters of
the King's house to offer flowers and light lamps.
When the son became king in his time he washed his father's creed
away with blood, and lit sacrificial fires with its sacred books.
The autumn day was dying. The evening hour of worship was near.
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