Classic Poem

O foolish mind, thou hast let thy life run all to waste.
In pride thou didst give thyself to evil desires: thou hast not sung the praise of Hari.

This world is as the cotton flower: thou didst see and desire its beauty.
Even as thou didst taste the cotton fibre flew: nothing came into thy hand.

What is the end, now that the time has gone? From the past thou didst gain no profit.
Sur says, From neglect of the praises of Bhagvant comes only regret and beating the breast.