WAKEN, O mother! thy children implore thee,
Who kneel in thy presence to serve and adore thee!
The night is aflush with a dream of the morrow,
Why still dost thou sleep in thy bondage of sorrow?
Awaken and sever the woes that enthral us,
And hallow our hands for the triumphs that call us!

Are we not thine, O Belov'd, to inherit
The manifold pride and power of thy spirit?
Ne'er shall we fail thee, forsake thee or falter,
Whose hearts are thy home and thy shield and thine altar.
Lo! we would thrill the high stars with thy story,
And set thee again in the forefront of glory.

Hindus: Mother! the flowers of our worship have crowned thee!
Parsis: Mother! the flame of our hope shall surround thee!
Mussulmans: Mother! the sword of our love shall defend thee!
Christians: Mother! the song of our faith shall attend thee!
All Creeds: Shall not our dauntless devotion avail thee?
Hearken! O queen and O goddess, we hail thee!

Note: From The Golden Treasury of Indo-Anglian Poetry by V.K.Gokak (Editor)


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