The record of my stainless years unroll--
My years beset
From infancy to age with pitfalls deep
In pathway winding aye on mountain steep
Of perilous obedience, and yet
In bitterness of soul I lay me down,
Of home bereft, with hope and creed o'erthrown
In woe that will not weep;
My reeling spirit ere from sense set free
Is loosed from mooring, beaten to and fro,
And in the throbbing, quick'ning flesh I know
The lone desertion of the Shoreless Sea.
O Brotherhood!
O hope so high, so fair,
That would the wreck of this sad world repair
Had ye but stood!
Can God forget?
This Khalsa of his own supreme decree
Vanquished, debased, in loss of liberty
Has lost its own mysterious entity.
And yet, and yet,
A strange persuasion fills my breast that He
Who wrecked my home,
Who bade my people from their mountains flee
And friendless roam,
Will soon with tenderest pity welcome me,
And, if my lips be dumb,
Will frame the prayer that fills my dying breast,
And give my heavy-laden spirit rest,
And grant me what He will--His will is best.