Classic Poem

What happens when we throw holy flowers on the god, and worship and sing to him with our lips and meditate on him, this Vishnu the son who comes from Vadamadura,
The one who lives where the great and holy Jumna flows,
The beautiful light that sprang from the tribe of shepherds,
The one who made his mother happy?
The sins that we committed in the past, and those that still wait to assail us,
All become like dust in the fire.

The lofty trees whose brauches make sweete shades
Whose armes in springe are richely dighte w th flow rs
Without the roote their glory quickly fades
& all in vaine comes pleasant Aprill show rs .
No loue can be at all without the hart
the Base beares parte.
The princely tow rs whose pride exceedes in show
if ther foundations be not stronge & sownde
Are subject to the smallest windes it blowe
& highest toppes are brought to lowest ground.
No fielde is sweete whe all is scortchd w th drowte
nor musick good when so the base is out.