Bengal of Gold
MY BENGAL OF GOLD
My Bengal of Gold (Precious),
I love you.
Forever your skies, your air set my heart in tune
As if it were a flute.
In spring, O mother mine, the fragrance from your mango groves
Makes me wild with joy
Ah, what a thrill!
In autumn, O mother mine,
In the full blossomed paddy fields
I have seen spread all over sweet smiles.
In spring, O mother mine, the fragrance from your mango groves
Makes me wild with joy
Ah, what a thrill!
In autumn, O mother mine,
In the full blossomed paddy fields
I have seen spread all over sweet smiles.
O mother mine, words from your lips
Are like nectar to my ears.
Ah, what a thrill!
If sadness, O mother mine, casts a gloom on your face,
eyes are filled with tears!
AMAR SHONAR BANGLA
Amar shonar Bangla,
Ami tomae bhalobashi.
Chirodin tomar akash,
Tomar batash,
Amar prane
Bajae bãshi.
O ma, phagune tor amer bone
Ghrane pagol kôre,
Mori hae, hae re,
O ma, ôghrane tor bhôra khete
Ami ki dekhechhi modhur hashi.
Ki shobha, ki chhaea go,
Ki sneho, ki maea go,
Ki ãchol bichhaeechho
Bôţer mule,
Nodir kule kule!
Ma, tor mukher bani
Amar kane lage shudhar môto,
Mori hae, hae re,
Ma, tor bôdonkhani molin hole,
Ami nôeon ami nôeonjôle bhashi.
THE MORNING SONG OF INDIA
(JANA GANA MANA)
THE MORNING SONG OF INDIA (JANA GANA MANA)
Thou art the ruler of the minds of all people, dispenser of India's destiny. Thy name rouses the hearts of the Panjaub, Sind, Gujarat and Maratha, of the Dravida and Orissa and Bengal; it echoes in the hills of the Vindhyas and Himalayas, mingles in the music of the Jamuna and Ganges and is chanted by the waves of the Indian Sea. They pray for thy blessings and sing thy praise. The saving of all people waits in thy hand, thou dispenser of India's destiny.
Victory, Victory, Victory to thee.
Day and night thy voice goes out from land to land calling the Hindus, Buddhists, Shikhs and Jains round thy throne and the Parsees, Mussalmans and Christians. The East and West join hands in their prayer to thee, and the garland of love is woven. Thou bringest the hearts of all people into the harmony of one life, thou dispenser of India's destiny.
Victory, victory, victory to thee.
The procession of pilgrims passes over the endless road rugged with the rise and fall of nations; and it resounds with the thunder of thy wheels, Eternal Charioteer! Through the dire days of doom thy trumpet sounds and men are led by thee across death. Thy finger points the path to all people, Oh dispenser of Indias destiny!
Victory, victory, victory to thee!
The darkness was dense and deep was the night. My country lay in a deathlike silence of swoon. But thy mother arms were round her and thine eyes gazed upon her troubled face in sleepless love through her hours of ghastly dreams. Thou art the companion and the saviour of the people in their sorrows, thou dispenser of India's destiny,
Victory, victory, victory to thee!
The night fades; the light breaks over the peaks of the Eastern hills; the birds begin to sing and the morning breeze carries the breath of new life. The rays of the mercy have touched the waking land with their blessings. Victory to the King of Kings, Victory to thee, dispenser of India's destiny.
Victory, Victory, victory to thee.
Rabindranath Tagore
GITANJALI
GITANJALI
Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.
Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.
When thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart would break with pride; and I look to thy face, and tears come to my eyes.
All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet harmony — and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its flight across the sea.
I
