Classic Poem

O Lord, in the ocean of the world is boundless pain: therein one can see no end.
Endless the way—my home far distant: wilt thou not speak and give me hope?
Thy service is for Sants a ladder: wilt thou not bid me climb thereon?
The boat is of iron and laden with stones: without good deeds and love am I.
The desires are as waves: and infatuation death: the mind is besotted with its own self.
O Lord of the helpless, hear my prayer wherefore dost thou thus delay?
Rai Das is the slave at the feet of the Sants: grant him now thy protection.