Classic Poem

In singing praise of Thee I put my trust, O Immortal.
I make no pilgrimage, I keep no fast: nor read the Vedas at Kasi.
I know no magic, jantras, mantras: night and day I roam in sorrow.
Within my heart dwells a butcher concealed behind a screen of coveting.
Dharm Das prays with clasped hands, O Sat Guru make me thy servant at thy feet.