THE HYMNS OF HELL DWELLER
The selfish priests live in this temple old,
When grieved by idols they take the God’s fold.
Their worship is vain, their prayers in vain,
The poor are destined to weep in old pain.
In height are buildings which kiss the sky,
In fact each city makes ruins by and by.
Let some one ponder the fate of axe yet,
Pervez1 well watered, the beau thirsty yet.
This knowledge, this science, statecraft and trade,
For kingship alone these games were made.
I thank thee O God! that this radiant tract,
Of bondage of West has no signs in fact,