In the choicest of valleys

There is moaning and lamentation,

In the great thoroughfares of men

There is the laughter of changing sadness,

In the melodious song

There is the emptiness of fulfilled desire,

Upon the lofty mountain

There awaits the stillness of death.

Wave upon wave

Comes the action of men

To break lonely upon the shores of vain glory.

The whirlwind of young love

Grows sad within the fold of a single day.

Thought conquers the great regions of time,

Only to return to the bondage

Of a deceiving mind.

All, desire is as young as the first ray of dawn

And sad as the procession of death to the grave:

Struggle, the pursuit of fleeting pleasure,

Toil, the dull pain of easy ambition,

Gain, the gathering of the peculiar treasures of the rich,

Domination, the cry of perverted judgment that holds the heart of the oppressor,

Greed, the cruelty of privation that corrupts the growth of life,

Fear, the eager search after shelters of comfort,

Worship, the deep forgetfulness from the confusion of many desires.

To the music of the distant flute

Flows the wide, ancient river,

Fresh with young-waters.

Many chants are sung in praise of happiness,

Many gods are invoked as guides to happiness,

Many heavens are glorified as enticements to happiness,

Many altars are built to happiness,

Many rites are performed as offerings to happiness,

Many benedictions are asked as protection for happiness,

Many truths are extolled in anguish for happiness,

Many virtues are sought in fear for happiness,

Many possessions are gathered in hope of happiness,

Many desires are gratified in expectation of happiness,

Many sacrifices are made in quest of happiness,

Many austerities are imposed in longing for happiness.

Deep in the mire the seed of the lotus is in travail,

The soft fragrance lies hid in the heart of the flower.