As he lies bleeding, cold and low,
As life’s red tide is ebbing slow,
Lament for fallen bravery.
For the son of wisdom, the holy sage,
Full of knowledge and hoar with age,
Him who had walked through the times of night,
As if on his path a secret light
Lustrous and pure and silent fell;
To all, save himself, invisible,
A secret ray from Heaven’s own shrine