You are honored and revered,
Director of the seven spheres.
Kissing the reddish lines on tender leaves,
Affection You have strewn.
Twixt high and low You make no distinction,
God of Love, heavenly in splendor.
Perfect is Your sublime knowledge,
Hey my rhythmic Object of Worship.
Any dirt that is to me intrinsic,
Any mental corner's filthiness,
By Your touch, elsewhere it drifts,
Hey Singer of the Song Cosmic.
Director of the seven spheres.
Kissing the reddish lines on tender leaves,
Affection You have strewn.
Twixt high and low You make no distinction,
God of Love, heavenly in splendor.
Perfect is Your sublime knowledge,
Hey my rhythmic Object of Worship.
Any dirt that is to me intrinsic,
Any mental corner's filthiness,
By Your touch, elsewhere it drifts,
Hey Singer of the Song Cosmic.
Sarkarverse article
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He knows everything, big and small; and His love is all-embracing.
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