Narsimha Mehta

How Will I Worship You, Krishna

How will I worship you, Krishna O treasure house of compassion! Ineffable is this mysterious bliss. . . . How will we contain him in our tiny casket? He encompasses everything, moving and motionless! How will I worship you, Krishna? O treasure house of compassion! Ineffable is this mysterious bliss. . . . The beloved of Laxmi bathes in torrential rains How will he be pleased by a mere trickle from our conch-shell? Fifty and nine winds fan him. O how will he prefer my small effort? How will I worship you, Krishna? O treasure house of compassion! Ineffable is this mysterious bliss. . . . By becoming the Sun, you scorch the three worlds, By becoming the moon, you cool them, O Vitthal! You pour down by becoming the clouds, You blow by becoming the gale! How will I worship you, Krishna? O treasure house of compassion! Ineffable is this mysterious bliss. . . You are the fragrance in every herb, What then is a gardener with a mere bunch of flowers? What is our offering with perfumes and fragrant oils? When the aroma can be hardly compared to yours? How will I worship you, Krishna? O treasure house of compassion! Ineffable is this mysterious bliss. . . Kamala serves you daily with exquisite delicacies What then is our insignificant offering? Says Narsaiyyo; he who has tasted the elixir called Krishna Is never born again! How will I worship You, Krishna? O treasure house of compassion! Ineffable is this mysterious bliss. . .