A king most needs a kind and loving heart
To love his subjects as an only son,
To aid--not injure, comfort--not oppress,
Their help, protector, father, friend and guide.
Such kings shall live beloved and die renowned,
Whose works shall welcome them to heavenly rest."
The king, convicted, heard his solemn words
That like an arrow pierced his inmost life.
To him religion ceased to be a show
Of chants and incense, empty forms and creeds,
But stood a living presence in his way
To check his blind and headlong downward course,
And lead him to the noble eightfold path,
That day by day and step by step shall lead
To purity and peace and heavenly rest.
Kapilavastu's king, Suddhodana,
His step grown feeble, snowy white his hair,
By cares oppressed and sick with hope deferred,
For eight long years had waited for his son.
But sweet Yasodhara, in widow's weeds,
Her love by sorrow only purified
As fire refines the gold by dross debased,
Though tender memories bring unbidden tears,
Wasted no time in morbid, selfish grief,
But sought in care for others her own cure.
Both son and daughter to the aged king,
She aids with counsels, soothes with tender care.
Father and mother to her little son,
She lavishes on him a double love.
And oft on mercy's missions going forth,
Shunning the pomp and show of royal state,
Leading Rahula, prattling by her side,
The people saw her pass with swelling hearts,
As if an angel clothed in human form.
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