“I was on my way to the temple with my evening offerings,Seeking for the heaven of rest after the day’s dusty toil;Hoping my hurts would be healed and stains in my garment washed white,When I found thy trumpet lying in the dust.Has it not been the time for me to light my lamp?Has my evening not come to bring me sleep?O, thou blood-red rose, where have my poppies faded?I was certain my wanderings were over and my debts all paidWhen suddenly I came upon thy trumpet lying in the dust.From thee I had asked peace only to find shame.Now I stand before thee—help me to don my armour!Let hard blows of trouble strike fire into my life.Let my heart beat in pain—beating the drum of thy victory.My hands shall be utterly emptied to take up thy trumpet.”The Trumpet—Rabindranath Tagore.
“I was on my way to the temple with my evening offerings,Seeking for the heaven of rest after the day’s dusty toil;Hoping my hurts would be healed and stains in my garment washed white,When I found thy trumpet lying in the dust.Has it not been the time for me to light my lamp?Has my evening not come to bring me sleep?O, thou blood-red rose, where have my poppies faded?I was certain my wanderings were over and my debts all paidWhen suddenly I came upon thy trumpet lying in the dust.
From thee I had asked peace only to find shame.Now I stand before thee—help me to don my armour!Let hard blows of trouble strike fire into my life.Let my heart beat in pain—beating the drum of thy victory.My hands shall be utterly emptied to take up thy trumpet.”
The Trumpet—Rabindranath Tagore.