# Poems of Peace/Buddha

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS
BUDDHA
Under Mount Ratnagira’s western shade, Weary and worn with his long search for Truth, Sorrowing, unsatisfied, disconsolate, Sat Buddha, knowing not where he should turn To find the Truth that he had so long sought— The Truth that maketh steadfast, strong, and pure, The Truth that bringeth peace and blessèd rest. The Schools had failed him; the philosophies, Hoary and ancient, had not stilled the cry Of passion in his heart; and passion’s child, Sorrow, was with him still; the scriptures, creeds, Proud pillars of the State, had failed to bear The weight of his great woe, crumbling away Under temptation, leaving him the prey Still of desire and pain and clouded mind. Mortifications he had tried, and they
Had left him strengthless, wan, wanting the Truth; And now he seemed as one defeated, borne Upon the stream of Fate, helpless, alone.
But while the Buddha brooded in the shade, Suddenly on his ear there fell a cry, A sob of pain, a pitiful strange sigh; Whereat he rose, and left the shade, and sought (He scarce knew why, but that there leaped within His sorrowing heart a mighty unknown love) Whence came the cry; and presently he saw, Upon the road, ’mid thirsty clouds of dust, Under the fierce blaze of the Indian sun, A shepherd, driving hard a flock of sheep; And in the rear there lagged a little lamb With wounded feet, bleating most piteously, The while the ewe, with anguish deep and sore, Cried o’er her little one, knowing that she Was helpless to relieve her.
When Buddh saw The piteous spectacle, compassion slew His own deep sorrow; and he straightway took The wounded lamb, and bore it in his arms, Saying, "Vain are the strivings of the soul After vain knowledge; vain the learned lore That hath not pity in it; vain is life That hath not love; and whatsoe’er is false,
And what uncertain, though it seemeth true, This thing is true, that I should pity thee. The priests who pray and read, and read and pray, Die in their sins at last, and do not find The Love I mourn for, the deep Truth I seek; And better were it that I ease thy pain Than pray with them, and seek and never find. Thee will I love; yea, I will pity thee Whom none will pity; thee will I relieve; Tired of the soulless theories of men, I, Buddh, will stoop to thee, thou dumb, weak thing, Whom men despise, knowing that this is true, Whate’er is doubtful, and whate’er unsure, Pity and Love are right; whatever fades And perishes, Compassion will not fade, And Love will never perish.” So he took Into his arms the weary, wounded thing Which nestled in his bosom, and became Quiet and peaceful; and the anxious ewe Walked by his side, looking into his face, Glad that her lamb had found those blessed arms: And so she walked, and dumbly worshipped him, Knowing him Buddha, the compassionate.
And Buddha in that hour entered the Way Which he had vainly sought in schools and creeds; Entered the Path which no philosophy Leads unto, and which none shall ever find
But by sweet deeds of Love, forgetting self; And in his heart there grew a holy Love; And in his mind a knowledge new and strange; And his whole being felt a painless peace; Sorrow and pain were not; and then he knew That he had found the holy Truth at last.
And from thenceforward Buddha lived the Truth, And taught its practice; and from far and near Came men and women who had sought the Truth, And at his feet they sat and worshipped him, Learning of love and pity; finding bliss And peace that cannot fail; and him they called Deliverer, Redeemer, Blessèd Lord. And even they who understood not, sensed Faintly this truth which one day they should know:— Better than learning is a loving heart; And to give comfort to one wounded lamb Is higher than the wisdom of the schools, And greater than the world’s philosophy.
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