All These - Poem by Pijush Biswas
All these, Distress, Strain, Owe
Fight to the ages' demand
Or, crave for attainment, to bestow
The world, hand by hand.
All these, Love, Mercy, Pity
To the world's highest fulfilment
Manifest the eternity to beauty
When Hate, too long, spent.
All these, Truth and Honesty
Ever speak and murmur to light-
The light, endows one's duty;
Or, which, altarage of God's might.
All these, ills of the world
If seek in themselves, or shout
- - Distress, Strain, Owe of Old;
Hence, all manures must stout.
Or, if our hut is the sea
And knowledge is free as liquid
Yonder! a God, the Love is to be
Nor to reckon weed.
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