The devotees begin to sing hymns, one of them leading and the rest following in chorus.
Girish sings:
Who is this Woman with the thick black hair,
Shining amidst the assembly of the gods?
Who is She, whose feet are like crimson lotuses
Planted on Śiva's chest?
Who is She, whose toe-nails shine like the full moon,
Whose legs burn with the brightness of the sun?
Who is She, who now speaks soft and smiles on us,
And now fills all the quarters of the sky
With shouts of terrible laughter?
Again:
O Mother, Saviour of the helpless, Thou the Slayer of sin!
In Thee do the three Gunās dwell-sattva, rajas, and tamas;
Thou dost create the world;
Thou dost sustain it and destroy it;
Binding Thyself with attributes, Thou yet transcendest them;
For Thou, O Mother, art the All. . . .
Behari sings:
O Syama, Thou who dost sit upon a corpse!
I beg Thee, hear my heart's most fervent prayer:
As my last breath forsakes this mortal flesh,
Reveal Thyself within my heart!
Then, in my mind, from forest and from grove
I shall gather Thee red hibiscus flowers,
And, scenting them with the sandal-paste of Love,
Shall lay them at Thy Lotus Feet.
M. sings with the other devotees:
O Mother, all is done after Thine own sweet will;
Thou art in truth self-willed, Redeemer of mankind!
Thou workest Thine own work; men only call it theirs. . .
They sing again:
All things are possible, O Mother, through Thy grace;
Obstacles mountain high Thou makest to melt away.
Thou Home of Bliss! To all Thou givest peace and joy;
Why then should I be made to suffer fruitlessly,
Brooding on the success or failure of my deeds?
And again:
O Mother, ever blissful as Thou art,
Do not deprive Thy worthless child of bliss!
My mind knows nothing but Thy Lotus Feet.
The King of Death scowls at me terribly;
Tell me, Mother, what shall I say to him? . . .
They conclude:
In dense darkness, O Mother, Thy formless beauty sparkles;
Therefore the yogis meditate in a dark mountain cave. .
- Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, P 928-29 (31 October 1885)
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