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　　CHAPTER XII

　　II. 24. hamsâ, kaho purâtan vât

　　Tell me, O Swan, your ancient tale.

　　From what land do you come, O Swan? to what shore will you fly?

　　Where would you take your rest, O Swan, and what do you seek?

　　Even this morning, O Swan, awake, arise, follow me!

　　There is a land where no doubt nor sorrow have rule: where the

　　terror of Death is no more.

　　There the woods of spring are a-bloom, and the fragrant scent "He

　　is I" is borne on the wind:

　　There the bee of the heart is deeply immersed, and desires no

　　other joy. Songs of Kabir