Fine Arts


Zest for sight, no doubt, is true
O men endowed with art and tact
What aim or goal such sight can serve
Which fails to see the inmost part?

The aim of heart is to infuse
Eternal glow in human hearts:
What is the use of warmth that, like
A spark, expires and soon departs?

O vernal drop, what is the worth
Of mother-shell and such pearl,
If truth can not defeat untruth
And river does not swell and swirl?

It may be poet's verse or song,
Or breath of one who plays on reed
What does that morning breeze avail
If stead of freshness sear it breed?

Without the aid of wondrous acts
No nation ever can advance:
An art that has no Hoses' Rod
A people's status can't enhance.

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