(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)
He loves the light of the sun,
he loves the sight of his mother's face.
He has not learned to despise the dust,
and to hanker after gold.
Clasp him to your heart and bless him.
He has come into this land of an hundred crossroads.
I know not how he chose you from the crowd,
came to your door, and grasped your hand
to ask his way.
He will follow you, laughing and talking,
and not a doubt in his heart.
Keep his trust, lead him straight and bless him.
Lay your hand on his head, and pray
that though the waves underneath grow threatening,
yet the breath from above may come and
fill his sails and
waft him to the heaven of peace.
INDOlink Poetry Tagore's Poems
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