Classic Poem

O Lord, of my demerits take no heed.
Thy praise is to look equally on all: Lord, if thou wilt, Thou canst save me.
One ranks as a river, another but as a brook: foul is the stream that flows in all.
In one race all unite: Ganga is then the name, she takes.
This iron is sanctified for worship, that serves in the butcher's house.
Of merit and demerit the touch stone knows nothing: it makes of both alike pure gold.
From all Maya's baffling web grant Sur Das release, O Syama.
In this hour save me, Lord: else Thy promised word proves false.