Classic Poem

My mind, O Lord, is without understanding.
Thy lotus-feet, the treasure-house of happiness, it has renounced and strays wearily hither and thither like a dog.
Ever the fool strays searching in vain in every pot, in any empty dwelling.
For his covetousness nowhere and no wise the soul finds satisfaction.
Wherever I go, terror confounds me, and gnarled sticks bruise my feet.
All whistles the witless simpleton obeys and suffers insult every where.
Thou knowest all: Thou art fulfilled in all: of the vast palace of the universe the true Lord.
Thee, Sur has forsaken in his surpassing folly: and wanders all distraught.