This paltry song-wreath,
I've composed for You only.
Gems and pearls I have not gleaned;
Just these odes of mine are there.
I pluck blooms in the morning;
I pack maya's string at evening.
Constantly recalling Thee,
Inside tune I've strung a speech.
This life's entire veneration,
Many private investigations,
With transience a contention...
Rid has been all the fatigue.
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Forever I will sing of glory Thine.
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