Classic Poem

Renounce, O Soul, the fellowship of those who have turned their back on Hari.
From fellowship with these springs all unwisdom: the strain of praise is broken.
What profit comes from offerings of milk? The snake abandons not his poison.
What profits it to feed the cow on camphor, or bathe the dog in Ganga?
Why anoint the ass with sandal or deck the body of an ape with jewels?
Why bathe the elephant in the river? Again he pours the dust upon him.
By shooting arrows one pierces not a stone: even if he empties his quiver.
O Sur Das, the blackguard, like a black blanket, will not take another dye.