THE TWO IDEALS

(The two following poems present respectively the Buddhist and Christian Ideals of Life.)

THE BUDDHIST IDEAL. Dhaniya Sutta.

1 Hot steams my food. My cows are milked. —So said the herdsman Dhaniya— Along the banks of the Mahī With equals and with friends I dwell. Right well is my trim cottage thatched, And on my hearth the fire burns bright. So let the rain pour down now, if it likes, to-night!

2 Cool is my mind. No fallow land lies there. —So said the Exalted One— For one night only, as I wander on, I dwell upon the banks of the Mahī. My lodging’s open to the sky. The fires Are out (for in my heart the flames Of Lust, Ill-will, and Dulness burn no more). So let the rain pour down now, if it likes, to-night!

3 There are no gadflies here. My kine —So said the herdsman Dhaniya— Are roaming through the meadows rich with grass; Well can they bear the fickle rain-god’s blows. So let the rain pour down now, if it likes, to-night!

4 My basket raft was woven well together. —So said the Exalted One— Crossed over now, I’ve reached the farther bank And overcome the floods (the Lust of Sense, The Lust of Life, Delusion, Ignorance). So let the rain pour down now, if it likes, to-night!

5 Obedient is my wife, no wanton she, —So said the herdsman Dhaniya— Long has she dwelt with me, my well-beloved, I hear no evil thing in her against me. So let the rain pour down now, if it likes, to-night!

6 Obedient is my heart, wholly set free, —So said the Exalted One— Long has it been watched over, well subdued, No evil thing is found within my breast. So let the rain pour down now, if it likes, to-night!

7 On my own earnings do I live at ease. —So said the herdsman Dhaniya— My boys are all about me, strong in health, I hear no evil thing in them against me. So let the rain pour down now, if it likes, to-night!

8 No man can call me servant, and I wander —So said the Exalted One— At will, o’er all the earth on what I find. I feel no need of wages, or of gain. So let the rain pour down now, if it likes, to-night!

9 I’ve barren cows, and sucking calves —So said the herdsman Dhaniya— And cows in calf, and heifers sleek, And a strong bull, lord o’er the cows. So let the rain pour down now, if it likes, to-night!

10 No barren cows have I, nor sucking calves, —So said the Exalted One— No cows in calf, nor heifers sleek, Nor a strong bull, lord o’er the cows. So let the rain pour down now, if it likes, to-night!

11 The stakes are driven in, nothing can shake them. —So said the herdsman Dhaniya— The ropes of munja grass are new and strong, No calves could break them loose, and stray. So let the rain pour down now, if it likes, to-night!

12 I’ve broken all the bonds loose, like a bull, Or like the lordly elephant, calm in his strength, Contemning the weak strands of jungle rope. I ne’er again shall enter the dark womb. So let the rain pour down now, if it likes, to-night!

13 Then lo! a thunder-cloud filling the hollows, And the high ground, that moment poured forth rain, And Dhaniya, the herdsman, as he heard The god’s rain rushing, yielded him, and said:

14 O, great the gain that has accrued to us, In that we met the Exalted One to-day! In thee of the seeing eye we put our trust. Be thou, O mighty Sage, a teacher to us. My wife and I will be obedient; Under the Happy One we both will lead A holy life, and pass beyond old age and death, And put an end, for aye, to every pain!

15 The man with sons takes pride in sons, —So said Mara, the Evil One— The man with kine takes joy in kine. Lusts, evil, and Karma bring delights to men; He, who has none of these, has no delights.

16 He, who has sons, has sorrow in his sons, —So said the Exalted One— He who has kine, has trouble with his kine, Lusts, evil, and Karma, are the source of care; He, who has none of these, is not care-worn. Dhaniya Sutta is ended.

(By kind permission of Professor Rhys Davids, LL.D., Ph.D., whose translation it is. From Buddhism: Its History and Literature.)

THE CHRISTIAN IDEAL.

There was silence. None did dare To use again the spoken air Of that far-charming voice, until A Christian resting on the hill, With a thoughtful smile subdued (Seeming learnt in solitude) Which a weeper might have viewed Without new tears, did softly say, And looked up unto heaven alway, While he praised the Earth—

O Earth, I count the praises thou art worth, By thy waves that move aloud, By thy hills against the cloud, By thy valleys warm and green, By the copse’s elms between; By their birds which, like a sprite Scattered, through a strong delight, Into fragments musical, Stir and sing in every bush By thy silver founts that fall, As if to entice the stars at night To thine heart; by grass and rush, And little weeds the children pull, Mistook for flowers!

—Oh, beautiful Art thou, Earth, albeit worse Than in heaven is callèd good! Good to us, that we may know Meekly from thy good to go; While the holy, crying Blood, Puts its music kind and low, ’Twixt such ears as are not dull, And thine ancient curse!

Praisèd be the mosses soft In thy forest pathways oft, And the thorns, which make us think Of the thornless river-brink, Where the ransomed tread! Praisèd be thy sunny gleams, And the storm, that worketh dreams Of calm unfinishèd. Praisèd be thine active days, And thy night-time’s solemn need, When in God’s dear hook we read ‘No night shall be therein’! Praisèd be thy dwellings warm, By household faggot’s cheerful blaze, Where, to hear of pardoned sin, Pauseth oft the merry din, Save the babe’s upon the arm, Who croweth to the crackling wood. Yea,—and better understood, Praisèd be thy dwellings cold, Hid beneath the churchyard mould, Where the bodies of the saints, Separate from earthly taints, Lie asleep, in blessing bound, Waiting for the trumpet sound To free them into blessing;—none Weeping more beneath the sun, Though dangerous words of human love Be graven very near, above.

Earth, we Christians praise thee thus, Even for the change that comes, With a grief, from thee to us! For thy cradles and thy tombs; For the pleasant corn and wine, And summer heat; and also for The frost upon the sycamore, And hail upon the vine!

E. Barrett-Browning.