He bade them rise, and learned from whence they came,
And led them joyful to the bamboo-grove,
Where some brought water from the nearest stream
To bathe their festered feet and weary limbs,
While some brought food and others yellow robes--
Fitter for India's heat than skins and furs--
All welcoming their new-found friends who came
From distant lands, o'er desert wastes and snows,
To see the master, hear the perfect law,
And bring the message noble Purna sent.
The months pass on; the monsoons cease to blow,
The thunders cease to roll, the rains to pour;
The earth, refreshed, is clothed with living green,
And flowers burst forth where all was parched and bare,
And busy toil succeeds long days of rest.
The time for mission work has come.
The brethren, now to many hundreds grown,
Where'er the master thought it best were sent.
The strongest and the bravest volunteered
To answer Purna's earnest call for help,
And clothed in fitting robes for piercing cold
They scale the mountains, pass the desert wastes,
Their guide familiar with their terrors grown;
While some return to their expectant flocks,
And some are sent to kindred lately left,
And some to strangers dwelling near or far--
All bearing messages of peace and love--
Until but few in yellow robes remain,
And single footfalls echo through that hall
Where large assemblies heard the master's words.
A few are left, not yet confirmed in faith;
And those five brothers from the distant north
Remain to learn the sacred tongue and lore,
While Saraputra and Kasyapa stay
To aid the master in his special work.
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