And then with loving tenderness he taught
How sin works out its own sure punishment;
How like corroding rust and eating moth
It wastes the very substance of the soul;
Like poisoned blood it surely, drop by drop,
Pollutes the very fountain of the life;
Like deadly drug it changes into stone
The living fibres of a loving heart;
Like fell disease, it breeds within the veins
The living agents of a living death;
And as in gardens overgrown with weeds,
Nothing but patient labor, day by day,
Uprooting cherished evils one by one,
Watering its soil with penitential tears,
Can fit the soul to grow that precious seed,
Which taking root, spreads out a grateful shade
Where gentle thoughts like singing birds may lodge,
Where pure desires like fragrant flowers may bloom,
And loving acts like ripened fruits may hang.
Then, chiding not, with earnest words he urged
Humanity to man, kindness to beasts,
Pure words, kind acts, in all our daily walks.
As better than the blood of lambs and goats.
Better than incense or the chanted hymn,
To cleanse the heart and please the powers above,
And fill the world with harmony and peace,
Till pricked in heart, the priest let fall his knife;
The Brahmans listening, ceased to chant their hymns;
The king drank in his words with eager ears;
And from that day no altar dripped with blood,
But flowers instead breathed forth their sweet perfumes.
And when that troubled day drew near its close,
Joy filled once more that shepherd's humble home,
From door to door his simple story flew,
And when the king entered his palace gates,
New thoughts were surging in his wakened soul.
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