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　　CHAPTER LXIV

　　I. 117. sâîn se lagan kathin hai, bhâî

　　Now hard it is to meet my Lord!

　　The rain-bird wails in thirst for the rain: almost she dies of

　　her longing, yet she would have none other water than the

　　rain.

　　Drawn by the love of music, the deer moves forward: she dies as

　　she listens to the music, yet she shrinks not in fear.

　　The widowed wife sits by the body of her dead husband: she is not

　　afraid of the fire.

　　Put away all fear for this poor body. Songs of Kabir