Classic Poem

I am sinking fast: why dost thou not raise me up?
O Lord, friend of the humble and treasury of Mercy, remove Thy servant's woe.
The clouds of self have gathered: they pour out the water of infatuation: the river of covetousness is impassable.
We who are overwhelmed in it can find no foot hold. Thou only art our refuge.
Every moment thirsty desires flash round me as lightning: these have consumed, O Lord, body and soul.
The thunder roll of this fearful world confounds me and fills me with misery and dread.
The waters of this world are a whirl-pool of confusion — I, poor wretch am overwhelmed therein.
O Syama, Sur Das knows Thee to be the help of sinners: Lord remember and fulfil Thy promise.