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Hymn XXXIII - Kulaitha Pathu The Decad Of The Bruised Heart Or 'Self-Dedication.'

It would be hard to find a more touching expression of absolute mystic self-renunciation than these verses contain.
I. Useless suffering 

If cruel pain oppress from 'deeds of old,' guard Thou 

Who ownest me! If I, a man of 'cruel deeds' 
Suffer, from this my woe doth any gain accrue? 

O light of Umai's eyes, take Thou me for Thine own! 
And though I err, ah! should'st not Thou forgive,- 

Thou on whose crest the crescent rests? If I appeal, 
Wilt Thou withhold Thy grace, Father, from me Thy slave? (4)

II. Why is the affliction of embodied existence prolonged? 

Thy slave's afflictions all to drive far off I deem'd 

Thou mad'st me Thine, erewhile; Thou Partner of the Queen, 
Whose form is like the slender creeping plant! Our King; 

bidding me come, why didst Thou not in grace destroy 
This body vile? Our Lord, Who dwell'st in you yon blest world! 

Thou called'st,- if my service not accepting now
Thou dost afflict, Master, will any gain accrue? (8)

III. Pardon my offences. 

Thy mercy given to save one void of worth, 

a dog like me, hath it this day pass'd all away? 
Thou Partner of the Tender One, our Mighty King, 

ev'n faults that like a mountain rise, to virtues turn, 
If Thou but say the word! If Thou didst take me once 

for Thine, why dost Thou not- though ruined- pity take 
On me? our Lord,- Thou of eight arms and triple eye! (12)

IV. When wilt Thou call me back to Thee? 

Bridegroom of Her with fawnlike eyes! Our King! If Thou 

hast caused me Thine abiding glory to forget; 
If Thou hast thrust me out in fleshly form to dwell; 

if Thou hast caused Thy slave to wander here forlorn; 
Knowing Thy servant's ignorance, O gracious King, 

when comes the day that Thou Thyself wilt show Thy grace? 
Ah! When, I cry, when wilt Thou call me back to Thee? (16)

V. All is Thyself! 

The tongue itself that cries to Thee,- all other powers 

of my whole being that cry out,- all are THYSELF! 
Thou art my way of strength! The trembling thrill that runs 

through me is Thee! THYSELF the whole of ill and weal! 
None other here! Would one unfold and truly utter Thee, 

what way to apprehend? Thou Lord of Civa-world! 
And if trembling fear, should'st Thou not comfort me? (20)

VI. Desires. 

Thou know'st what to DESIRE is meet,- when we DESIRE

Thou'rt He that wholly grants! To Ayan and to Mal 
DESIRING Thee, how hard to reach! Yet me Thou didst 

DESIRE, my service claim! DESIRING what didst Thou 
Bestow Thy grace? That and naught else do I DESIRE! 

And if aught else there be that stirs in me DESIRE! 
That too, in sooth, is Thy DESIRE,- is it not so? (24)

VII. I am wholly Thine 

That very day my soul, my body, all to me 

pertaining, didst Thou not take as Thine own, 
Thou like a mountain strong! when me Thou mad'st Thy slave? 

And this day is there any hindrance found in me?
Our mighty One! Eight-arm'd and Triple-eyed! 

Do Thou to me what's good alone, or do Thou ill, 
To all resigned, I'm Thine and wholly Thine! (28)

VIII. My destinies are in Thy hand. 

Me dog, and lower than a dog, all lovingly 

Thyself didst take for Thine. This birth-illusion's thrall 
Is plac'd within Thy charge alone. And I in sooth, 

is there aught I need beyond that, with care search out? 
Herein is there authority at all with me? 

Thou may'st again consign me to some mortal frame; 
Or'neath Thy jewelled foot may'st place me, Brow-eyed One! (32)

IX. My soul is fixed on Thee. 

Thou in Whose brow a central eye doth gleam! Thy feet- 

the twain- I saw; mine eyes rejoic'd; now, night and day, 
Without a thought, on them alone I ponder still! 

How I may quit this earthly frame, how I may come 
To enter 'neath Thy feet in bliss, I ponder not! 

Save Thee, O King, should I Thy servant ponder aught? 
Thy service here hath fulness of delight for me! (36)

X. The hope deferred. 

Thy beauty only I, a slavish dog, desire, 

and cry aloud. O Master! Thou didst show to me 
Thy sacred Form in lustre shrin'd, and didst accept 

my service. Thou my Glory!- Mine august abode, 
In ancient days assur'd, Thou now withhold'st;- and so, 

O beauteous Lord!- Thou of the glorious mystic Word! 
My King,- sorely indeed hast Thou bruis'd my poor heart! (40)

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