XXXIII

When I thought I would mould you, an image from my life for men
to worship, I brought my dust and desires and all my coloured
delusions and dreams.

When I asked you to mould with my life an image from your heart
for you to love, you brought your fire and force, and truth,
loveliness and peace.



XXXIV

"Sire," announced the servant to the King, "the saint Narottam
has never deigned to enter your royal temple.

"He is singing God's praise under the trees by the open road.
The temple is empty of worshippers.

"They flock round him like bees round the white lotus, leaving
the golden jar of honey unheeded."

The King, vexed at heart, went to the spot where Narottam sat on
the grass.

He asked him, "Father, why leave my temple of the golden dome and